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University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 



Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 



Part II., May, 18N3, to October, 1S83. 


Copyright, 1883, by The Century Co. 

Press of Theodore L. De Vinne & Co. 

New -York. 

Library, Univ. M 




Six Months — May, 1883, to October, 1883. 


Adventures of Rana Pip. (Illustrated by F. S. Church) Evelyn Mutter 685 

Agassiz Association Harlan H. Ballard 557 

637, 717. 797, S77, 957 

Amateur Journalists. A Convention of (Illustration from a photograph). Harlan H. Ballard 708 

Among the Polly-dancers Lucy Larcom 483 

Archibald Stone's Mistake. Verses. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Emma C. Dowd 673 

Argument. An Verse Katharine R. McDowell. . 580 

Art and Artists. Stories of (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 509, 923 

Artist. Our Special (Illustrated by W. Taber and from photographs by \ Edwhl Las , Mer Bynner 716 

Geo. B. Wood) S 

" A Tam O'Shanter Dog." Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 593 

August Day by the Sea-shore. An Picture, drawn by H. A. Johnson 768 

Back-yard Party. A Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 659 

Baptist Sisters. The (Illustrated by J. D. Woodward and W. T. Peters) Sarah J. Prichard 5S2 

Beautiful Charity. A Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 627 

Beautiful Day. The Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott Margaret Johnson 723 

Big Bite. A Verses. (Illustrated by Miss Ella G. Condie) Eva Love/l Carson 911 

Birds. Curious Items About 526 

Black Bass. Fly-fishing for (Illustrated by Geo. F. Barnes) Maurice Thompson 7S4 

Blue Jay. The Poem Sttsan Hartley Swett 700 

Bold Hunter. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Eva F. L. Carson 940 

Boy and the Toot. The Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) M. S. S25 

Brass Work for Boys and Girls. (Illustrations, by Francis Lathrop and ) ., , „ r , , 

H. A. Johnson) . . . . \ Lhar,es G ' Leland ? 01 

Brooklyn Bridge. The (Illustrated by W. Taber and G. W. Edwards) . . Charles Barnard 6S8 

Brownies' Good Work. The Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox ... 920 

Captain Kidd's Treasures. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes S6- 

Catamaran. How to Build a (Illustration, by Daniel C. Beard) U\ L. A/den f6i 

Chalk Talk. (Illustrated by the Author) Frank Beard 544 

Convention of Amateur Journalists. A (Illustration, from a photo- I r , , rr n ,, , 

, . Harlan H. Ballard 70S 

graph) ( I 

Counting their Chickens j\/_ £ ffla - Sc , Tanner 790 

O Counting Up and Down. Jingle. (Illustrated by Robert Blum) Rev. Joseph Dawson S48 

T Critics. The Picture, drawn by Oliver Herford jej 

^ Curious Head-dresses of Women. (Illustrated by the Author) Walter Satterlee 550 

go Curious Items about Birds. (Illustrated) r 2 6 

"* Dinner-time at the Zoological Gardens. Pictures, drawn by Culmer ) 

Barnes *. . . . ) 



Dora Helen Hayes 822 

Drummer-Boy. Recollections of a (Illustrated by W. Taber and W. H. > Harry M. Kieffer 593 

Shelton) > > 6 49> 754, «35. 9" 

Fable for Boys. A (Illustrated) Charles Barnard 486 

Fiddlers Three. The Verses. (Illustration, by Culmer Barnes) Joel Stacy 648 

Flowers for the Brave. Poem. (Illustrated) ' Celia Thaxter 571 

Florida. Tom, Dick, and Harry, in (Illustrated by the author) Daniel C. Beard 826 

Fly-fishing for Black Bass. (Illustrated by George F. Barnes) Maurice Thompson 784 

For a Great Many Neds. Verses Eva F. L. Carson 616 

Fresh-air Fund. The (Illustrated by M. Woolf, W. H. Drake, and Jessie ) j ^ p gr(l g t g 

McDermott) > 

Funny Chicken. A Verses Emma C. Dowd 855 

Gathering Beech-nuts. Picture, drawn by Harry Fenn 927 

Good Model. A Ernest Ingersoll 609 

Great-grandmother's Garden. Poem. (Illustrated by Miss L. B. Hum- ( M ary j_ j acgU es c,6i, 

phrey) ' 

Halcyon Days and Halcyon Ways. (Illustrated by the Author) Be Cost Smith 810 

Home-made Mother Goose. The (Illustrated by the Author) Adelia B. Beard 788 

How Gip Played with the Ball. Picture, drawn by P. Caminoni. 654 

How Johnnie's Men Struck Work Sophie Swett 643 

How to Build a Catamaran. (Illustration, by Daniel C. Beard) IV. L. Alden 661 

How Tommy Went to Jail. (Illustrated) Kate B. Foot 572 

"I Don't Know When." Jingle. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) 751 

In Summer-time. Poem. (Illustrated) Bessie Hill 783 

" In the Cool of the Morning." Picture, drawn by Jessie McDermott , 649 

Jingles 488, 543. 57 6 , 593. 6 77, 7S 1 . 82 5 

Kansas Nursery. A Verses. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Alice Wellington Rollins . 504 

King Philip — Chief of a School Tribe John Clover 850 

Kitchen-garden School. The (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) ■ . .Louise J. Kirkwood 928 

Lady of the Chingachgook. The (Illustrated by H. F. Farny) Rev. Charles R. Talbot . 773 

Largest Pet in the World. The (Illustrated by James C Beard) John R. Coryell 933 

Last of the Peterkins. The Lucretia P. Hale 521 

"Let 's See if it 's Anything Good to Eat" — ! ! ! Picture, drawn by \ g_ 

"Boz" J " 

Lindy. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Charlotte A. Butts 725 

Little Lady. A Poem. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Lizzie L. Gould 611 

Little Pyramus and Thisbe. (Illustrated by George F. Barnes) Louisa M. Alcott 803, 885 

Lollipops' Vacation. The Sophie Swett 906 

Lost in the Woods. (Illustrated) \ ' Mar > J ' Sa # ord and 

' \ Helen D. Brown 856 

Loveliness. Poem Maria Locey S62 

Luckless Bard. A Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 576 

Made by a Silk-worm. (Illustrated) John R. Coryell 707 

Maggie Darnley's Experiments Jane Eggleston Zimmerman 674 

Marmaduke Mumm and His Big Bass Drum. (Illustrated by H. ) „ T r , '.. s 

McVickar) \ 

Memories of the Zoological Gardens. Pictures, drawn by Culmer \ 

Barnes \ 749 

Midget Sheep. The (Illustrated by James C. Beard) John R. Coryell 903 

MIKE AND I R. Latti more Ailing 517 

Motherless. Picture 919 

Mr. and Mrs. Chipping-bird. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) .H. H. 495 

Mud-pies. Picture, drawn by Addie Ledyard 519 

Ned's Suggestion. Verses. Louise R. Smith 937 

" Oh, My Eye." Picture, drawn by " Boz " 813 

On the Refuge Sands. (Illustrated) Frank R. Stockton 611 

Our First Summer Boarder. Picture, drawn by W. T. Peters '. 653 

Our Picnic. Verses. (Illustrated by Addie Ledyard) Marian A. Atkinson 589 


Our Special Artist. (Illustrated by W. Taber, and from photographs by ) £j wlll Lassetter Bynner y6 

Geo. B. Wood) > 

Peggy's Trial Cora Linn Daniels 506 

Perseverance. Poem. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Sarah Orne Jewett 840 

Peterkins. The Last of the Lucretia P. Hale 521 

Pictures 509, 516, 519, 564, 610, 649, 653, 654, 673, 728, 749, 757, 768, S13, 847, 863, 890, 919, 927 

Pistol. The Toy (Illustrated) Charles Barnard 675 

Playthings and Amusements of an Old-fashioned Boy. (Illustrated). .Frederic G. Mather . . . S64, 945 

Plucky Prince. The Verses. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) May Bryant 597 

Punch and the Serious Little Boy. Verses. (Illustrated by Rose ) Margaret Vandegrift 90J 

Mueller) > 

Prize Compositions 710 

Recollections of a Drummer-boy. (Illustrated by W. Taber and W. H. ) Harry M. Kieffer 593, 

Shelton) \ 649, 754, 835, 911 

Rembrandt Van Eyn. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 923 

Rhyme of Bed-time. A Verses. (Illustrated by Geo. B. Barnes). Jeanie St. Johns 905 

Robert Burns. Essay. (Illustrated) Marion Satterlee 711 

Robert Burns. Verses James C. Holenshade 712 

ROBIN Hood. The Story of (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Maurice Thompson . .4S9, 576, 655 

Rosy Sail. The Poem. Illustrated Celia Thaxter S08 

Rural Quartette. A Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 847 

School. The Kitchen-garden (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Louise J. Kirkwood 928 

Shark in Sight. A (Illustrated) ■ hhn Peck, Jr 710 

Sheep. The Midget (Illustrated by James C. Beard John R. Coryell 903 

Ship in the Moon. The (Illustrated by C. S. Reinhart) 6". T. R 853 

Signs of May. Verses. ( Illustrated by M. L. D. Watson) M. M. D. 503 

Silk-culture Associations C. M. St. Denys 630 

Silk-culture for Girls C. M. St. Denys 705 

Six Little Maidens. Verses. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) R. W. Lowrie 735 

Sleepy-time. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Lizzie L. Sylvester 581 

" Spring "-time in the Country. Picture, drawn by H. A. Johnson 509 

Squash Class. The (Illustration, by Helen P. Strong) T. G. Haddington S20 

Stories of Art and Artists. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement. . 509, 923 

Story of a Brave Girl. The (Illustration, by Walter Fenn, from a photo- )„_•_, ,, 

J r > George Enos 1 hroop 065 

grap") ' 

Story of Robin Hood. The (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Maurice Thompson . 4S9, 576,655 

Story of the Castle. The Poem. Illustrated Celia Thaxter 752 

Summer Changes. Poem. (Illustrated) Philip Bourke Marston SS3 

Sunrise — A Russian Folk-story. (Illustrated) Elizabeth Abercrombie 758 

Sweet Peas. Verses Lilian Payson 6S7 

Swept Away. (Illustrated by J. Wells Champney) Edward' ' S. Ellis 535, 

599. 677, 761, S42, 941 

" This Seat Reserved. " Picture, drawn by Adelia B. Beard S90 

Thoughtful Friend. A (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 488 

Tinkham Brothers' Tide-mill. The (Illustrated by J. H. Cocks) /. T. Trowbridge 496, 

564, 667, 72S, Si 3, S94 

Tom, Dick, and Harry, in Florida (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard S26 

Toy Pistol. The (Illustrated) Charles Barnard 675 

Trio of Naturalists. A Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 610 

Under the Apple-tree. Verses Aunt Fanny 863 

Unsatisfactory Meeting. An Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 520 

Vain Old Woman. The Arlo Bales 727 

Vandyck. Anton (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement . . . 509 

Walking Match. A Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 564 

Ways and Means. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Margaret Vandegrift S54 

Weather Prophecy. A Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) " Bonnie Doon " 543 

" What a Horrid Deceiver is Man." Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) . .John S. Adams 677 

Wish-ring. The (Illustrated by Marie Wiegmann). Translated by Anna Eichberg 938 



Work and Play for Young Folk. (Illustrated) 544, 630, 701, 784, 864, 940 

Chalk Talk Frank Beard 544. 

- Silk-culture Associations . C. A/. St. Denys 630 

Brass Work for Boys and Girls Charles G. Leland 701 

Silk-culture for Girls C. M. St. Denys 705 

M ade by a Silk-worm John R. Coryell. 707 

Fly-fishing for Black Bass Maurice Tliompson 7S4 

Home-made Mother Goose Adelia B. Beard 7S8 

Playthings and Amusements of an Old-fashioned Boy Frederic G. Mather S64, 945 

Young Mountain Sheep. The (Illustrated by the Author) W. M. Cary 750 

Young Ship-builder. The Picture, drawn by J. H. Cocks 728 

Zintha's Fortune Kate Tannatt Woods 769 


JacK-in-THE-Pulpit (Illustrated). 

Introduction — A Fire Burning Fifty Years — Always Room for One More — A Fir-tree as a Button-hole 
Bouquet — A Concert for Horses — Another Wonderful Orchid (illustrated) — A Government Bird — A Boy's 
After-dinner Poem — A Police-force of Ants, 554; Introduction — A Slow Coach — "Connect Me with the 
Woods, Please" — Why Not, Indeed? — Look Out for the Moth (illustrated) — The Moon in a New Light — 
Oh, that Pug! — That Other Fellow who Wanted an Answer, 634; Introduction — The Difference in Interest 
— A Weather Sunday — A Good Name — Folks' Glove — The Inquisitive Fisherman (illustrated) — Help 
Wanted — Lindley Murray's List — Snakes in India, 714; Introduction — Oh, Dear Me! — How Far that Little 
Thirty-two Thousand Candle Throws its Beams! — Fishing by Lightning — Black Snakes Among the Fish — 
Floating Sand — Latest Reports — Who Can Answer This? — Chivalry (illustrated), 794; Introduction — War 
on the Sparrows — The Deep, Deep Sea — A Pet Rabbit — An Important Insect — A Railway Velocipede (illus- 
trated) — A Bull-dog Ant — A Butterfly-hunt in Rio Janeiro — A Scorpion Mother, 874; Introduction — The 
Ermine— Make Baths for the Birds — How They Do It — Who Knows ? —In Haste (illustrated) — About 
that Floating Sand — Good News for the Carrier-pigeons — The Whistling Fish of Nevada, 954. 

For Very Little Folk (Illustrated). 

The Big Black Dog and the Big Black Goat; The Vain Little Girl, 552 — One, Two, Three; Winky, Blinky, 
632 — Hello; Day and Night, 792 — The Story of the Paper Dollies,, 872 — Brown Little Prince, 951. 

The Letter-box' ( Illustrated ) 556, 636, 716, 796, 876. 956 

The Riddle-box (Illustrated) 559, 639, 719, 799, S79, 959 


"Anton Vandyck," facing Title-page of Volume — "Great-grandmother's Garden," 563 — "The Lifting of the 
Fog," 643 — "And we turned back the hands till they pointed to ten." 723 — "Our geographies told us that 
toys were made in Nuremberg," S03 — " Summer Must Go," 883. 

^°n, from the engraving 


[See " Stories of Art and Artists," page 509. 


Vol. X. 

MAY, 1883 

No. 7. 

[Copyright, 18S3, by The CENTURY CO.) 

By Lucy Larcom. 

To children in towns, anything that suggests 
the wild woods and breezy hills is oftentimes 
even more than the woods and hills themselves are 
to those who live among them. From a city win- 
dow, I have seen children, playing in a vacant 
house-lot overrun with weeds, plucking and re- 
joicing over the rough, homely things as if they 
were the fairest of flowers, and, with delight that 
was almost ecstasy, sorting over the faded ever- 
greens thrown there from some neighboring chapel, 
where they had long served as decorations. 

The very word "evergreen" seems full of all 
manner of woodsy sights and sounds and smells. 

When a bit of a child myself — almost a baby — 
I remember that one day my father called me to 
the low table, which was just about on a level with 
my eyes, and said: 

" Look at the Polly-dancers ! " 

He had brought in a green pine-twig from the 
wood-pile, had cut off half a dozen brush-like little 
tufts, had trimmed their tips, and then, blowing 
upon them gently, had set them dancing about the 
table as if they were alive. They floated this way 
and that, each taking its own direction ; and when 
one moved too near the edge of the table, a light 
puff from his lips would send it back again. They 
seemed to me like tiny green-skirted sprites having 
a frolic together, and I was charmed with them 
more as playmates than as playthings. 

I had a large family of rag-babies of home 
manufacture, featureless and limbless, which either 
wore their only night-gown all day or had squares of 

bright calico (their entire wardrobe) pinned about 
their shoulders, shawl fashion ; and for each of 
these I felt a separate motherly affection. There 
was also a London doll laid away in a drawer, 
which I was told belonged to me, but whose rosy 
cheeks and flaxen curls I was forbidden to touch. 
For this fine lady I had a great admiration, with- 
out any feeling of attachment, and when she finally 
fell into my hands, my ill-treatment of her soon 
brought her down to the level of my humbler 

But I wholly forgot rag-babies and London dolls 
in my rapture over the Polly-dancers. 

No matter if they had neither heads nor feet, 
they could move like living creatures. The lack 
of motion and life is what makes dollies, however 
dear, unsatisfactory to a sensible child. All the 
imagining in the world will not make them stir. 
But a dolly that could flit hither and thither at a 
breath, it was no matter whether she had a visible 
head of her own or not, since there was one ready 
to grow for her, at any moment, out of her little 
admirer's brain. 

When I asked, "Where did the Polly-dancers 
come from ? " and was answered, " From the 
woods," a whole new, unexplored world rose be- 
fore me. 

There was a dark-blue outline against the sun- 
set, across the river, and another heavier line of 
purple-green in the north, toward the sea, which 
I had heard called " the woods." The name had 
been full of mystery to me, before; but from that 




moment it stood for a wonder-land — the home of 
the Polly-dancers ! How I longed for the time 
when I should be old enough to go to the woods ! 
And when one summer day, a year or two after, 
my brother asked and gained leave to take me 
with him a-berrying, was not I a happy girl? 

The walk was through a long street, past a 
great many houses, and then over an open, un- 
shaded road. But at last we were there. When 
the cool, lofty greenness closed us in, and fresh 
earth-smells came up from the moss and ferns 
beneath our feet, I seemed to know it all as if 1 
had been there before. These were really " the 
woods " of my dream ! 

My brother seated me on a great rock covered 
with lichens, and told me not to move from the spot 
until he came for me. Then he went out of sight 
with his basket, whistling. I felt like crying for 
loneliness when I saw him disappear, but the still- 
ness around me inspired a feeling of awe that made 
me afraid to utter a sound. And presently I be- 
gan to feel at home in the wonderful place. There 
were soft whisperings all about me, that seemed 
like kind voices of unseen friendly people, rustlings 
as of gossamer garments. 

Nothing would have tempted me from my perch, 
for I had read of elves and gnomes and fairies, 
and I firmly believed in them. They always lived 
in the woods ; and though I would gladly have 
stepped inside a fairy-ring, just once, I would not 
for worlds have done so without first feeling my 
hand fast in my brother's, else I was sure I should 
never see home again. But he did not believe in 
fairies, and I soon forgot that I did as I listened to 
the song of the Polly-dancers. 

For there they were, thousands and tens of thou- 
sands of them, up in those great trees, dancing 
with their feet out to the sky, and making such 
music together, low, sweet, and solemn ! I have 
never forgotten how it sounded to me that first time 
I heard it. It seemed to tell me that the world was 
a larger and lovelier place than I had dreamed, 
and that it would always have awaiting me some- 
thing grander than I could guess. Of course, I had 
no words for my feelings then ; I did not even know 
that I was having " feelings" at all. A child never 
does, until long afterward. But the feelings come 
back, and we remember the moments when we 
began to be acquainted with the world and with 

My brother and I walked home, two merry, 
tired, matter-of-fact children. He had left me 
only a half-hour or so alone ; and he did not con- 
fide to me until we were almost home that his 
basket, which seemed brimful of huckleberries, was 
really crammed with fresh leaves, and that there 
was only a thin layer of berries on the top ! I re- 

member thinking what a remarkable boy he was to 
have conceived such a clever artifice. But he had 
not liked either to take me into the bushes or to 
leave me long alone ; and he did not wish to appear 
unsuccessful in his search for berries, if he should 
chance to pass other boys. He little dreamed how 
much more than berries I had found in the woods 
that day ! 

For the pine trees have been like dear friends to 
me ever since. Every summer I go to visit them in 
their homes on the mountain-sides, where they 
best love to be, and where they are always read)' to 
give those who love them a hospitable welcome. 

I do not know of any tree that seems so much 
like a human being as a pine tree. Every one of 
its myriad little needle-like leaves vibrates like a 
sensitive nerve to the touch of the breeze, and its 
great song is a chorus of innumerable small voices 
answering each other, and carrying the anthem on 
into limitless space. It distills rich gums, and sends 
out spicy odors to make the air around it healthy 
and sweet, and it throws down its leaves to make a 
dry bed on the damp earth, where we can rest on 
hot midsummer days. There is no outdoor repose 
sweeter than that we find under its shadow, look- 
ing up through its boughs into twinkling breaks of 
blue sky. I always feel like a little child again 
when I find myself in that friendly solitude. 

There are companions all about me, happy, liv- 
ing creatures, and the most neighborly of these are 
the squirrels. They and the Polly-dancers seem 
very fond of each other. A squirrel runs out to 
the very tip of a long bough over my head, and a 
little gust of sound, that might be a laugh or a 
sigh, steals softly down to me. Is that distant chat- 
ter of the squirrels frolicking or scolding? I can 
not always tell. But once I saw a pitched battle 
between two chipmunks, high up in the tree-tops, 
and suddenly one of them fell with a light thud on 
the ground beside me, fifty feet or more below the 
scene of the fight. He did not seem the least bit 
hurt or discomfited, but was flashing up the next 
tree in an instant, after his victorious foe. 

It is wonderful how the squirrels know at once 
when any one has come into the woods. Let the 
intruder be ever so quiet, in a minute or two 
there is an approaching "chip-chip-chip!" a 
clattering down the loose bark of a tree, as of 
somebody whose shoes do not fit very well, and 
two small, bright eyes are staring at him inquisi- 
tively from a safe distance. 

Sitting perfectly still on the ground, I have eyed 
a squirrel ten minutes at a time — he as still as my- 
self and gazing into my eyes as steadily as I into 
his. I have usually had to be the first to look 
away ; then he would perhaps venture a little 
nearer, or possibly would take alarm at my move- 



ments, and run up into his tree, quivering -with 
excitement. Once I caught the eye of one sitting 
on a pine-scrub near me, with a nut or acorn in his 
mouth, which fitted in exactly and gave it the 
shape of the letter "O." He staid there a long 
time quite motionless, with his tail in the air, and 
his paws uplifted to his cheeks, stuffed out with 
the nut, which he did not attempt to eat or to drop, 
until I turned away. It was very comical, the 
three interjections that his eyes and mouth made 
as he watched me. I tried to talk to him in squir- 
rel-language, and he seemed to listen, but not to 
understand, for he gave no answer ; I suppose he 
was laughing inside at the ridiculous mispronunci- 
ations of the intrusive foreigner. But I have had 
long talks with squirrels that came down to within 
a few feet of me, and told me unmistakably that 
they had better command of their own vocabulary 
than I, and that I had better leave their premises 
at once. 

Squirrels in their native haunts are sometimes 
very tame. At a picnic in the woods, I have seen 
one come and take away a slice of cucumber almost 
from the hand of the person who laid it on the 
ground for him. We hoped he did not have to 
send for a squirrel-doctor, after eating the indigest- 
ible morsel. And one actually jumped from a tree 
down upon the shoulder of a lady who sat there 
talking with a friend. 

This was in the Maine woods, which, perhaps, 
are no lovelier than the woods of any other State, 
though they seem lovelier to me because I have 
passed so many peaceful, almost perfect, days 
in their shade. The ground all carpeted with 
delicate linnea-vines, interwoven with trailing 
arbutus and snowberry streamers, wherever the 
pine-needles had not fallen too thickly to let them 
through ; checkerberry and bunchberry dotting 
the deep verdure with scarlet drops ; the note of 
some belated bird now and then floating down the 
hill-side ; the great tree-trunks before me framing 

in the river and vast green meadows, and the grand, 
far-off mountain ranges tinted with azure and 
purple and pearl — it takes but a thought to carry 
me thither, and I journey there often through 
closed doors and windows. For memory and fancy 
are like the magic traveling-rug of the "Arabian 
Nights," and much pleasanter conveyances than 
steam-boat or railway car. 

I think there is some secret league between 
the Polly-dancers and the mountains. They are 
always found together ; and they perhaps like 
each other because of their differences, as persons 
sometimes do. For what is so airy, so easily 
stirred, as the needle-like foliage of the pine tree? 
and what is so immovable as a mountain ? 

Yet the far blue summits and the gray crags and 
precipices seem to speak through the pine tree. 
They are dumb, but they make its wiry leaves 
their harp-strings. The west wind steals down from 
the peak and breathes through the pine in a mono- 
tone, as if the mountain were thinking aloud, while 
the stormy blast wakens there a surging music as 
from vast organ-pipes. And the somber green of 
the pine-groves is never so picturesque as when 
contrasted with the misty tints of a hilly back- 
ground. To know the pine trees well you must 
live with them on the mountain-sides. 

When the pine tree sings, it wakes an echo in the 
heart of the smallest child who listens beneath its 
boughs. What is its song? 

That every little, firm, green thread, set so close 
upon its branches, delights to take its part in the 
grand music of creation, to breathe out the story of 
life all around it, larger and stronger than itself — 
life that it feels thrilling up from its hidden roots 
and out of the infinite spaces of the sky. And this 
song is so full of deep meaning to every human 
being who aspires to live truly, it seems so full of 
our own inmost longing, that we almost feel while 
we listen as if the pine tree had a soul. 

This I have learned among the Polly-dancers. 





By Charles Barnard. 


As SOON as a boy leaves school and looks about 
to see what he shall do next, he is very likely to 
be told by some unwise person, " The world owes 
you a living." This probably strikes him as being 
a very wise remark, and the boy says to himself, 
" If it is true that the world owes me a living, 
then I 'm all right." He finds a place, and goes to 
work manfully ; but after a time he concludes that 
there is no fun in it, and he stops to consider : 
" If the world owes me a living, why should I 
trouble myself ? Let the world pay its debt 
to me." Suddenly he loses his place and has 
nothing to do. He is surprised, and wonders why 
the world does not give him his due. " A nice 
bed, warm clothes, and regular dinners are good 
things, and I ought to have them. The world 
owes them to me, and if I do not get them I Ye 
been cheated out of my rights." 

A fable is a story that has been "made up" — 
an imaginary story that is not really true. The 
saying that " the world owes every man a living " 
sounds very deep and wise, but it is only a fable. 
It is not true. 

Come, boys, get your hats and walking-sticks, 
and let us take a tramp and see what we can find. 
We will start in the country and walk to town by 
the brook, along the river-side and over the canal. 
This is a pretty good road. It leads toward the 
city. It is smooth and hard, and the teams we 
meet roll along swiftly and easily. Yonder is a 
horse dragging a cart through some plowed land. 
He has a hard time of it, but as soon as he reaches 
the road he will trot off merrily enough. 

Here 's a stone bridge over a brook. See how 
nicely all the stones have been laid, one over the 
other, to make the arch that spans the water. The 
brook is deep and muddy, and it would not be 
much fun to wade it to reach the other side. But 
having the bridge, there is no need of that. 

We walk on, and presently come to another 
bridge. Ah ! this is the canal. It looks like a 
narrow river winding through the country. There 
is a path on one side for the horses, and here 
and there are locks. Here 's a boat coming. First 
comes the horse stoutly pulling on the long rope, 
and the great boat slips silently through the water 
behind him. A horse is able to drag on wheels a 
load which, if he walks all day, is equivalent to 
moving ten tons one mile. This horse pulling the 
canal-boat moves a load of five hundred and 
fifteen tons the same distance in the same time. 
That was certainly a good idea in some one to 
make a watery road and put boats, instead of 
carts, upon it, and thus make such a gain in the 
work of the horse. The canal looks like a river, 
but it is not. Thousands of men worked hard for 
a long time to dig the ditch and fill it with water, 
that the boats might travel from town to town. 

Here 's a lock. Let us stop and see the boat 
pass through. There are two great gates, arranged 
in pairs, at each end of the lock. The lower gates 
are open, and the lock is empty. At the upper 
end we find that the water is much higher above 
the lock than in it. The boat glides into the lock, 
and the lockman closes the gates tightly behind 
it. Then he turns a crank, and immediately 
we hear the water rushing into the lock. How 
wonderful ! The great boat rises slowly till it is 
level with the water above the lock. Then the 



man opens the upper gates, and the boat slips 
through and goes on its way. Here one man 
lifted, alone, a load of over rive hundred tons, and 
moved the boat from one level of the canal to 
another. Certainly, some one must have been a 
wise man to make such an admirable contrivance. 

Let us go on, for there is much more to be seen. 
We walk along the road and the houses become 
thicker, and there is a nice graveled sidewalk, 
with rows of trees on either side. Ah ! There 's 
the river. Let 's turn aside and look at it. The 
banks are lined with stone to keep the waves from 
washing the soil away, and out in the stream are 
red-and-black beacons to mark the channel for 
the steam-boats. There is one coming now. How 
swiftly it moves along ! What a very clever in- 
vention it is ! There 's a sloop beating up stream 
against wind and tide. The sail-boat finds it dif- 
ficult to make a mile while the steam-boat is going 

We trudge along, and presently come to a horse 
railroad leading into the town. Twenty-two peo- 
ple in the car, and only two horses. Two horses 
in a carriage find it quite enough to drag four 
people on a sandy beach or rough road, but when 
the carriage runs on smooth iron rails they can 
drag sixty people or more. Certainly, somebody 
must have been very bright to find out this and to 
put it into practice. 

Here we are in the city. There 's a policeman 
standing guard on the corner, to keep the thief and 
pickpocket from entering our house or stealing 
our purse. Here 's a fine, large school-house, 
where a hundred children are getting an educa- 
tion free. Next door is a free picture-gallery and 
a public library, and here 's a fountain in the street 
where men, horses, and even dogs, can have a 
drink of pure water at any time. Not far away is 
an engine-house, and we may stop at the door 
and look in at the beautiful and intelligent horses, 
trained to put themselves into place before the 
engine the instant the bell rings. What a fine 

How finely the streets are laid out, paved, and 
lighted with gas, and provided with signs on the 
corners to point the way. If we go down-town, 
we shall see great docks, with swift and beautiful 
ships floating in the harbor and great steam-ships 
ready to take us to any part of the world. There 
are the forts, where the soldiers mount guard day 
and night the year round. See that white tower 
in the distance. That is the light-house to guide 
strange vessels to the port. Yonder is a war-ship, 
with rows of black guns looking out of its sides — 
a noble sea-dog, ready to repel any invaders who 
dare come to our shores bent on mischief. There 
are many more things to be seen, but perhaps 
this is enough. Let us take the cars and go 
home. We pay a few cents, and are brought back 
to the country safely, quickly, and cheaply. 

Now, boys, what do you think of it ? We had a 
good road to walk upon, and a bridge to help us 
over the brook. We saw the water-road called a 
canal, and the river kept in fine order for boats. 
We saw the horse railroad, the steam-boat, the 
streets, the docks, the fort, and the light-house, 
the gallery and school ; and beside all these were 
many more wonderful things we did not have time 
to examine. 

We read that in certain countries there are no 
roads, towns, or even houses. Bears and wolves 
roam through the wilderness, and the few men who 
live there have a hard time to find food to eat 
and skins enough to keep out the cold. Were you 
carried there and left to take care of yourself, you 
would soon starve. There might be fish in the 
water, and grapes on the vines, and birds among 
the trees. But would the fish come up to be 
cooked and eaten, would the grapes drop into your 
hand, or the birds stay to be caught ? Not at all. 
Nature would simply let you starve. The world 
would see you faint with hunger or perishing with 
cold, and not a living thing would seem to care 
whether you lived or died. 

Put a line in the sea and catch the fish, and he 

piece of machinery is the engine — and the men, will make a hard struggle to get away. Only 

too. They look like able workmen, and, no doubt, because you are stronger, only after you have killed 

when the need comes, they will risk their lives him. can you eat the fish. Only by climbing the vine 

with a noble courage we can not help admiring. can you get grapes, only by trapping the birds 




can you eat them. This seems hard and cruel. 
Why does not Nature make fried fish to come up to 
the shore ? Why should not the grapes grow close 
to the ground ? Why do not the broiled ducks 
and boned turkeys hop down into our plates? I 
do not really know why not, but it is certain they 
never do. 

At one time this country was a wilderness, where 
no man could live, save by fighting the wild beasts. 
Some one chased away the bears and wolves, cut 
down the forests, laid out roads, built towns, and 
dug canals. Somebody spent vast sums of money 
in constructing railroads, steam-boats, docks, light- 
houses, schools, libraries, and all the fine things 
you enjoy so freely. More than this, somebody 
pays the policeman, the fireman, the soldier, sailor, 
the light-house keeper and school-master. 

From the day you were born your father and 
mother have fed, clothed, and sheltered you. It 
has cost you nothing. None of these great public 
works, roads, canals, towns, navies, and armies cost 

you anything. How can you say the world owes 
you a living? Is it not you who are in. debt? 
What has a boy done to deserve all this ? Not a 
thing. It is you who must pay — not the world. 

Ah ! boys, he was a foolish creature who first 
said, "The world owes me a living." He told a 
very silly fable. The world owes no man a living 
till he has done some worthy deed, some good 
work to make the world better and a fairer place to 
live in. Those old fellows who dug canals and laid 
out towns, who built cities and invented all these 
splendid things, — these telegraphs, these ships, 
these magnificent engines, — had the right idea. 
They worked manfully, and the world at last did 
owe them a living, and paid it many times over. If 
you mean to get out of the great debt you owe the 
world, do something, go to work and show you are 
a man. Then, when you have shown the world 
you can work, it will gladly pay you a living, and 
the finer and more noble your work the greater 
will be your reward. 

T is a perfect picnic day! the little dog did say, 
As Ke jbund his/rierids all ready /or the train; 
'Still, I thought !t would ease your mind 

Not to leave this thing behind, - 

For you Know a bonnet suffers so from rain." 



1 6,~ 





By Maurice Thompson 

Chapter I. 


Robin Hood 
has been called 
a robber ; but, 
in fact, he was 
not a robber at 
all, in the true 
sense of the 
word. He was 
a patriot against 
whom the de- 
cree of outlawry 
had been ut- 
tered by a ty- 
rannical king. 

In the year 
1265, on the 
field of Eves- 
ham, the patriots, who were struggling against the 
tyranny of Henry III., came to grief. They were 
utterly defeated and many of their noblest leaders 
slain. The most notable of those who survived the 
battle were outlawed and their homes and property 
confiscated. Robin Hood, who, under the leadership 
of De Montfort, a nobleman (Earl of Leicester), had 
shown great bravery and skill as an archer, was es- 
pecially hated by the tyrant, and forced, in order to 

save his life or to avoid banishment from his be- 
loved country, to take refuge in the vast wild forests 
of Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire, where he soon 
called about him a band of brave, but unfortunate 
lovers of liberty, who vowed never to surrender to 
the invaders of merry England. These men were 
of the good, substantial middle class of English- 
men, called yeomen, whose delight it was that 
they were free-born and had the right to bear the 
English long-bow and arrows as their arms and the 
badges of liberty. 

In those days life and property were not so secure 
as they are now, and governments were less stable. 

The wealthy men and hereditary nobles of Eng- 
land fortified themselves in vast castles surrounded 
with solid walls and moats filled with water, whence 
they now and then went forth, with their armed 
retainers, to do all manner of evil deeds. And 
these enemies of the people had given their 
allegiance to the invaders and conquerors of 

So it may be easily seen how Robin Hood and 
his compatriots were situated in their enforced exile. 
They had fought for freedom, and had been de- 
feated. To surrender was death or banishment for 
life. They were in the wild greenwood, with their 
weapons in their hands, and they resolved not to 
surrender to the tyrant, whose very name was hate- 
ful, and whose heart had never known mercy. 
They were free men and loved England, and they 

* Copyright, 18S3, by Maurice Thompson. 




could not bear the thought of being put to death 
by a king who had gathered about him a foreign 
■court, and had unsparingly oppressed the yeo- 
manry of his realm. 

At first, Robin Hood and his men sought to live 
by killing game in Sherwood forest ; but the tyrant 
would not allow this, rather choosing to send com- 
panies of armed men to scour the wood in search 
of them, with orders to take them dead or alive. 
Resistance became necessary, and Robin and his 
brave fellows fell upon some of these companies, 
and drove them from Sherwood with the loss of 
many men. 

A reward was offered for Robin Hood's capture. 
The rich nobles and even some of the ecclesiastics 
joined the King in his oppressions, doing every- 
thing in their power to bring Robin to his death. 

So it came to pass that at last this brave forester 
called his band together and gave the following 
orders, which were adopted as the law to govern 
their actions : 

" See that you do no harm to any husbandman 
that tilleth with the plow, or to any good yeoman, 
or to any knight or squire that is a good fellow; 
but those that live upon the fat of the land, and 
subsist by plundering the poor, you may beat and 
bind them. The High Sheriff of Nottingham, too, 
you may bear in mind, for he is no friend to any 
of us." 

This simple proclamation gives us an insight 
into the situation. The yeomanry and the knights 
and squires of England had mostly been on the 
side of freedom in the late struggle. They and the 
honest tillers of the soil sympathized with Robin 
and his band. The official class, as has been said, 
had always been the robbers of the poor and the 
auxiliaries of the tyrant. As for the Sheriff of 
Nottingham, he, no doubt, was desirous of capt- 
uring Robin and his men for the sake of the 
reward offered by the Government and the rich 
oppressors against whom Robin had leveled his 

Bearing in mind these prominent features, the 
reader is ready to go into the greenwood where 
this dauntless band of archers have their home, and 
there witness those exploits which have rendered 
the name of Robin Hood a household word in the 
homes of merry England for seven centuries or 

What shall interest you in all this ? Why, you 
shall go where the summer breezes sing, and the 
brooks ripple, and the wild birds carol in the shady 
groves. You shall hear the twang of the bow- 
string and the hiss of the flying arrow as the merry 
woodsmen hunt the deer, the wild swan, the pheas- 
ant, and other game. You shall see them catch 
the trout in the sweet, cold brooks. You shall be 

with Robin and his bold men in many a skirmish 
with the emissaries of the King, and you shall wit- 
ness their kindness to the poor and their noble 
tenderness to women. 

You will keep in mind, however, that the days 
of honorable outlawry are gone by — that what 
was justifiable in the times of the tyranny and law- 
less conquest of kings would be robbery, punish- 
able with imprisonment and disgrace, in this free 
and happy land of ours. And you will draw from 
the story of Robin Hood a fuller knowledge of the 
happiness you derive from living in an age of real 
freedom, and in a land where the Government pro- 
tects the people instead of joining with their ene- 
mies to oppress them. 

Chapter II. 



Ssp^HE earliest story of Robin 
Hood is contained in a 
rude ballad beginning as 
follows : 

" Come, listen to me, ye gentlemen 
That be of free-born blood : 
I shall tell you of a good yeoman, 
His name was Robin Hood." 

This ballad was written about 
ive hundred years ago, and is 
livided into eight parts. The 
part is the ballad-singer's story 
The Poor Knight." 
One fine morning, Robin Hood 
stood under a tree in the depths of the forest. 
He was leaning against the bole of the tree and 
must have looked weak and hungry, for one of his 
best men, who was called Little John, said to him: 
"Master Robin, if you would eat a good, hearty 
dinner, it would do you mugh good." 

"I have no desire to eat," said Robin Hood, 
"and shall not dine unless I have some stranger 
for a guest who can pay for his meal." 

In fact, Robin and his band had been so har- 
assed of late by the sheriffs of the King, and by 
bodies of men-at-arms sent to kill them, that the 
outlaw felt a keen desire to avenge himself. 

" Well, what must we do ? " said Little John, 
who was a great eater, and who was growing very 
hungry. " Give us our orders." And Robin an- 
swered : 

" You and Much, the miller's son, and William 
Scathelock, take a walk up to the dwarf-willow 
thicket and watch the highway called Watling 


49 I 

street, and take the first man that comes along, 
be he baron, or abbot, or knight, and bring him 
here to me. I '11 have dinner all ready by the time 
you return." 

Then the three men strung their long yew-bows, 
and, bowing to Robin Hood, went to do his bidding. 
They were strong men, especially Much, the mill- 
er's son, who was a match for several ordinary 
men. They must have shone bravely, as they 
stepped along through the summer woods, for they 
wore green mantles and gay hoods, and in their 
broad belts their arrows gleamed brightly. Robin 
watched them with pride, for they were the truest, 
the bravest, and the strongest of his men. 

When they had hidden themselves in the wil- 
lows, or sallies, which overlooked the highway, 
they began watching for some passer-by, but for a 
long time saw none. At last, however, a knight, 
shabbily dressed and evidently in a sad mood, 
came slowly riding by, with one foot in stirrup, the 
other carelessly dangling free, and with his hood 
pulled low over his eyes. 

Little John stepped forth from his hiding-place, 
and, bowing before the knight in a very courteous 
way, said : 

" I am glad to meet you, Sir Knight, for my 
master has been waiting dinner for you these three 
hours. You will be right welcome, gentle knight, 
to our feast under the greenwood tree." 

The knight reined up his horse and said : 

" And who is your master, my good yeoman ? " 

" Robin Hood," replied Little John. 

"Robin Hood, the brave patriot? I have heard 
much of him," said the knight. " He 's a good 
yeoman, and I will go to him with you, although 
I was to dine at Doncaster to-day." 

"My master will give you better fare than any 
inn-keeper at Doncaster," said Much. 

"That he will," said Scathelock. 

As they went along through the forest toward 
the tree where they had left Robin Hood, Little John 
and his companions noticed that the knight was 
very sad, and that the tears now and then dropped 
down his cheeks. They wondered what was the 
cause of his trouble, but kindly forbore to ques- 
tion him. 

At the tree Robin stepped forward, and, taking 
off his hood, bowed before the knight and said: 

" You are welcome, Sir Knight, to my green- 
wood home. I have been waiting three hours to 
dine with you." 

" Ah, thank you, good Robin Hood ! " said the 
knight, graciously bowing and smiling sadly. 
" God save you and all your men. " 

They gave the stranger such accommodations 
as they had. He and Robin went to the brook, 
and bathed their hands and faces side by side, and 

dried them upon the same towel. Then they dined 
together under the tree. And what a dinner it was ! 
There was fat venison and wine and pheasants and 
river-fowl, and the ballad goes on to say ; 

" And there wanted never so little a bird as ever was bred or. brier." 

The knight ate ravenously, and when his hun- 
ger was appeased, said : 

"Thank you, sir; for three weeks I have not 
had such a meal. I must be going now, but if I 
ever have the chance I shall repay your kindness 
by giving you just as good a dinner as this." 

"You must pay before you go," said Robin, 
who suspected that the knight might be a King's 
officer in disguise. 

At this the stranger looked chagrined, and said : 
" 1 have no money." His voice trembled and his 
eyes grew gloomy again, as if some deep distress 
had almost worn out his spirit. 

" If that is so," said Robin Hood, "you shall go 
free. Upon your knightly honor, Sir Knight, how 
much have you ? " 

" I have but ten shillings," said the poor knight, 
blushing for shame at his poverty. 

Robin was touched, but he wished to be sure, so 
he told Little John to search the knight. Sure 
enough, there were but ten shillings in his purse. 

Then Robin passed around the wine, and they 
drank the knight's health. 

" I wondered what made your clothes so thin," 
said Robin, "and now tell me — (I '11 keep the 
secret) — were you made a knight by force or from 
the yeomanry, or have you lived an uproarious 
life and wasted your fortune in debauchery?" 

" I have not lived a sinful life," said the knight, 
" and my ancestors have been knights for more 
than two hundred years." 

Then he went on to tell Robin how he had been 
good to his neighbors and had had a living of four 
hundred pounds a year, and how he had lost his 
wealth through his son's misfortune in a tourney 
where he had killed a knight and a squire. To 
save his son from the consequences, his goods had 
been sold and all his land mortgaged to the Abbot 
of St. Mary's Abbey. 

" And when must you repay the Abbot in order 
to save your estate ? " said Robin Hood. 

" A few days are left me yet, but I shall not be 
able to get the money," was the sorrowful reply. 
" My poor wife and children must suffer." 

•• How much do you owe the Abbot?" Robin 

" Four hundred pounds," replied the knight. 

" And what will become of you if you lose vour 
land ? " 

" I shall sail away to Palestine," said the knight, 
" to the land where Christ lived and died on Cal- 




vary. My fate is hard. Farewell. 1 shall never 
be able to repay you. You have been very kind 
to me." He was shedding tears as he spoke, and 
he turned to leave them, his head bowed and his 
face deeply lined with trouble. 

Robin Hood's three sturdy men stood by and 
wept at this. 

"What friends have you who will become your 
surety if I lend you the four hundred pounds?" 
Robin asked. 

" Heaven is my only friend," replied the knight. 
" Since my poverty has come upon me all men 
have deserted me." 

" But you offer no security," insisted Robin. 

" I have none to offer," answered the knight — 
"except my knightly honor." 

Robin Hood was wise. He knew human nature. 

" I will lend you the money," he said, quickly. 

So he sent Little John to his hidden treasury to 
fetch the money. Not only this, at Little John's 
suggestion, the knight was given three yards of 
every color of cloth contained in the outlaw's rich 
store. Much grumbled at Little John's free meas- 
urements, seeing that he used a six-foot bow for a 
yard-stick, and gave three feet over at each length ; 
but Scathelock laughed and said, "Little John 
can afford liberal measure, as the cloth did not 
cost him much ! " 

" Master Robin, you must give the knight a 
horse to pack all these goods upon," said Little 
John, eying the enormous pile of green and scar- 
let and gold and blue cloth. 

" And a palfrey," said Much. 

" And a pair of boots," added Scathelock. 

" And these gilt spurs," cried Little John. 

The knight stood silent, much moved by this 
great generosity. 

" Now, when shall you expect me to pay back 
this money?" he asked, as he prepared to depart. 

"On this day, a year hence, under this green- 
wood tree," replied Robin. 

Then the knight bade them good-bye, and was 
about to go, when Robin spoke up and said : 

" It would be a shame for so fair a knight to 
ride through the land with no squire, or yeoman, 
or page to walk by his side. I will lend you Lit- 
tle John to be your servant, and to stand in the 
stead of a yeoman, if you need one." 

And then the knight rode gladly away, with 
Little John by his side, while the birds sang in the 
green trees, and the sweet breeze whispered, and 
the brooks bubbled, and the deer bounded across 
the grassy glades. 

" Now," said the knight to Little John, " I must 
be in York to-morrow, at the Abbey of St. Mary, 
so as to pay the Abbot this money, or I may lose 
my estates forever." 

He was thinking how happy his wife and chil- 
dren would be when their home could again be 
called their own. He smiled so happily that it 
made Little John glad and proud of the part he 
had taken in befriending him. 

When they reached the great highway which 
led to York, they followed it, meeting on the way, 
no doubt, many noble knights, clad in shining 
steel armor, and many lords and ladies and eccle- 

The knight reached the Abbey just as the Abbot 
was considering what was to be done about the 
pledged estates. 

He was rather surprised at seeing the four hun- 
dred pounds counted out, and it was not with much 
pleasure that he surrendered the knight's lands, 
free of all encumbrance. 

But it was a happy day for the good knight, 
and a proud one for Little John. The two left the 
Abbey and went to the knight's home, where the 
Iatter's wife was sorrowfully waiting for him. They 
made her joyful with the news they bore, and she 
blessed the name of Robin Hood, and wished him 
and his noble men long life and great success. 

The knight and Little John sang merry songs. 
The whole world looked bright to them, as it 
always does to those who receive great benefits 
and to those who do noble deeds. 

Chapter III. 



ittle John was to 
remain in the em- 
ploy of the knight 
for one year, at 
the end of which 
he was to return 
to the greenwood 
and report to 
Robin Hood. 

The knight had 
no sooner secured 
his estates from 
the greed of the 
Abbot than he began making every effort to get 
the four hundred pounds necessary to meet his 
promise to Robin Hood when the year should 

Days passed on, and Little John found his new 
master a kind and generous one, who allowed him 
to enjoy himself in anyway he chose. One day 
the Sheriff of Nottingham was standing in a field, 
near some marks at which a number of archers 
were shooting. Little John joined in the game, 



and hit the center of the mark every time he shot. 
The Sheriff, who was anxious to get into his serv- 
ice archers who could equal Robin Hood and 
his men, at once offered him twenty marks* for a 
year's service. This offer the knight permitted 
Little John to accept. 

The reader must remember that Robin Hood 
and all his band were at war with the King, and 

that the Sheriff 
was the King's 
representative. It 
is said, and usu- - 
ally acted upon, 
that any strategy 
is fair in war. Lit- Ji - 
tie John, in going 
into the Sheriff's 

employ, gave his name as Reynold Greenleaf, and 
did not hint that he had ever been with Robin 
Hood. The Sheriff gave him a fine horse to ride, 
and showed him marked favor. But Little John 
remembered well the man)- noble and patriotic 
fellows this Sheriff had caused to be slain or ban- 
ished, and he was only watching for a chance to 
punish him, and relieve the people from his op- 
pression. This chance soon offered. Little John 
formed a plot with the Sheriff's cook, by which it 
was arranged to carry away to Robin Hood all the 
Sheriff's money and silver plate. The plot was 
successful. The cook and Little John got safely 
into the greenwood with three hundred pounds in 
money and a large amount of plate. They were 
gladly welcomed by Robin and his men, and the 
cook was taken into the company. 

When this was accomplished, Little John ran 

five miles to join his master, the Sheriff, who was 
hunting deer in a wood. 

" Master ! " he cried, when he found the Sheriff, 
'• I have been deep in the forest, and I have seen 
a glorious sight — the fairest sight these eyes ever 
saw. I have seen a fine hart, and with him no less 
than sevenscore deer ! He is of a green color, 
and his antlers have full sixty points." 

This declaration, 
together with Little- 
John's breathless and 
excited condition, 
aroused the Sheriff's 

"I should be glad 
to see such a sight 
as that," he said. 

"Come with me, 
then," cried Little 
John earnestly, "and 
I '11 show you the 
green hart and all 
the deer. They are 
but five miles away." 
The Sheriff bade 
Little John lead on, 
and, forthwith leav- 
ing his comrades of 
the chase, he followed 
the wily outlaw di- 
rectly to Robin Hood, 
who, with a green 
mantle on his shoul- 
ders, stood by the oak 
called the " Green- 
wood Tree " or "Trys- 
tal Tree," which was 
the spot where he and 
his band usually met. 
"Here is the fine green hart — the master of 
the herd," cried Little John, pointing at Robin. 

The Sheriff turned pale and began to tremble. 
He knew he was trapped by Little John, and ex- 
pected nothing but death at the hands of Robin 
Hood, whom he had so long and so shamefully 
persecuted. But, to his surprise, he was asked to 
dine, and was courteously treated. All that Robin 
Hood required of him was to sleep one night on 
the ground wrapped in nothing but a thin green 
mantle, so that he might know how the hardy 
patriots were accustomed to fare. Then, on the 
morrow, Robin administered an oath to the Sheriff 
that he would never molest any of the band, and 
that he would help whomever of them should need 
assistance. The Sheriff took this oath solemnly on 
Robin's sword, as was the form among the outlaws, 
and was allowed to return to Nottingham. 

b A mark is thirteen shillings and fonr-pence — or about three dollars and twenty cents. 




The outlaws were now very happy, thinking they 
could henceforth live in the greenwood without fear 
of persecution from the Sheriff. The year rolled 
around, the merriest year they had ever seen. 
They met in the glades, and held shooting tourneys 
with their bows and arrows. Robin Hood himself 
joined in their sports, and was always the best 
archer among them. 

But when the day came for the knight to re- 
pay Robin's money, the chief looked in vain for 
any sign of his approach. Dinner was delayed, 
for Robin wished to have the knight at table with 
him. Little John got very hungry, and kept in- 
sisting on proceeding with the meal. 

"I fear greatly." said Robin, " that the knight 
has failed me, for he is not come, and my pay is 
not sent to me." 

"Never doubt," said Little John; "the sun is 
not yet down by three hours, and the money is not 
due till then. I know the gentle knight will not 
break his word." 

Then Robin said to Little John and Much and 
Scathelock : 

" Take your bows, and go to the sallies and Wat- 
ling street, and bring me the first stranger that you 
see, and if he shall chance to be a messenger, or a 
minstrel, or a poor man, he shall partake of my 

And they went, and after a time returned with 
a fat fellow, whom they had captured along with 
his pack-horses and two attendants. This man 
proved to be the high cellarer of Saint Mary's 
Abbey, to which the poor knight's land had been 

"And so you belong to that Abbey, do you?" 
said Robin, and then he ordered Little John to 
search the fellow's coffer, a thing which Little 
John was glad to do, for he knew how hard this 
same high cellarer had tried to defraud the poor 
knight, and how he had oppressed all the good 
yeomen of the county. 

There proved to be more than eight hundred 
pounds in his coffer. In fact, when captured he 
was on his way as a messenger to a council of the 
King's advisers, and was commissioned to urge the 

( To he c, 

confiscation of the poor knight's property, and to plot 
the destruction of Robin Hood and his merry men. 
So our hero simply turned the tables, so to speak. 

" Now, go to your masters," said Robin, as the 
man was leaving, "and tell them I shall be glad 
to have one of their cellarers to dine with me every 

With a light coffer and a heavy heart the fellow 
went his way from the greenwood tree. 

The sun was now nearly down, but its bright 
rays were still flashing on the tops of the tallest 
trees when the poor knight was seen approaching. 
He dismounted, and taking off his helmet bowed 
low before Robin Hood. 

" May heaven bless you and your brave men, 
good Robin Hood," he said, in a tone of great 

" Welcome, very welcome, gentle knight," cried 
Robin ; " but what has kept you so long ? " 

'• I stopped at a wrestling match, as I came 
along," said the knight, "and I saw a poor yeo- 
man, who had no friends present, being set upon 
and badly treated, so I stopped to assist him." 

". You did ! I thank you, Sir Knight, for that 
deed. I shall always be the friend of him who 
helps a good yeoman at need," said Robin, his 
face beaming with pleasure. And when the 
knight tendered the four hundred pounds that he 
had borrowed, Robin would not take .the money. 

" Keep it yourself, gentle knight," he ex- 
claimed. " Fortune has already paid me my 
money. She sent it to me by the high cellarer 
of Saint Mary's Abbey." 

Then, at a signal from the knight, a hundred 
men dressed in white and red came forward, and 
offered Robin Hood a hundred new bows and a 
hundred sheaves of arrows, in token of the knight's 
gratitude for the kindness of the outlaw chief and 
his comrades. 

Robin Hood was overjoyed, and for many days 
after the knight's departure he and his merry 
men sang gaily wherever the)' went. Their hearts 
were light, and they felt secure since the Sheriff 
of Nottingham had taken an oath to help them at 
need, and to never again molest them in any way. 


i88 3 .] 




By H. H. 

Mr. and Mrs. Chipping Bird 
Came from the South to-day ; 

And this is what I saw them do, 
And almost heard them say : 

Their last year's house stood empty still— 

'T was in Crab Apple Row, 
On Grape Vine corner, where the grapes 
In autumn sweetest grow. 

The house was only one year old — 
Last spring they built it new ; 

But snow and rain all winter long 

Had drenched it through and through. 

Upon my word, my dear, I think 
That we can make it do ! " 

"Humph!" said the wife (at least she looked 

As if that were the word) — 
" I think you must have lost your head, 

Dear Mr. Chipping Bird ! 

" To patch up such a shell as that 

Is worse than building new. 

I doubt if we could mend it so 

'T would last the summer through ! " 

"My dear, you 're wrong. 'T is not so bad — 
'T is all your silly pride ! 

And winds had rocked it back and forth, 

And torn it on one side ; 
'T was but a shabby little house 

It can not be denied. 

Still, if 't were patched, as birds know how, 

It might do one more year; 
And Mr. Chipping Bird, I think, 

Believed that this was clear. 

Eying it round, and round, and round, 

He hopped about the tree, 
And chatted gayly to his wife, 

As pleased as he could be. 

'A little here and there," he said, 
" 'T will be as good as new ! 

'Twill answer!" Mr. Chipping Bird 
In shriller accents cried. 

Ha ! Will it ? " chirped the little wife, 

And at the tree she flew. 
And in a jiffy, with her feet, 

She tore the house in two ! 

Now let 's see you mend that," she said., 
"Smart Mr. Chipping Bird!" 
And then she cocked her eye at him 
And never spoke nor stirred. 

Wise Mr. Chipping Bird, he laughed; 

What better could be done ? 
And off they flew, and in an hour 

The new house was begun ! 




By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter XX. 


No doubt Tilly Loring hoped Rush would fol- 
low her into the tree, and, by some soothing ex- 
planation, atone for the shock he had given her. 
That is what almost an)' other girl in her place 
would have wished and would have had a right to 
expect, if what he had said was only an ill-timed 

But he merely called after her, " Letty will 
tell you all about it ! " and walked into the mill, 
looking terribly offended, Tilly thought. 

"What have I done?" she said to herself. 
" They will never forgive me ! I know now why 
Letty nudged me at the table — she wanted to stop 
my tongue. I never was in such a scrape in all 
my life! To think how I talked to them — I, 
their guest ! " 

She heard footsteps coming along the bank, 
and, looking up, saw Letty bringing hats and 

"O Letty!" she implored, "say it is n't so! " 

"Why, Tilly!" began Letty, guessing what 
Rush had been telling her. 

" This is n't the dam the Dempford people are 
■excited over, is it ? Say it is a mistake ! " 

" I wish I could," said Letty. " For you 've no 
idea how we all feel about it. All but Mother. 
She does n't know of it yet." 

" Oh ! oh ! oh ! " said Tilly. " How I did talk 
to your brothers ! How they must all hate me ! " 

" No, indeed ! " Letty threw a hat over her 
friend's agitated curls. " Of course, you did n't 

" Understand ? Why, I know no more of the 
rights of the case than the Queen of China — if 
there is a Queen of China-! Your brothers could 
n't have built the factory ; they have n't been here 
long enough. It looks as old as they are ! " 

" It is, almost. So is the dam. It has been 
where it is for years. And nobody ever thought 
•of making a fuss about it till lately. It has a 
right to be there ; and it would ruin the boys — it 
would ruin us all — it would be the cause of Moth- 
er's losing every dollar of the money which she 
has put in the place — if the dam should be taken 

"Why, Letty!" Tilly exclaimed, indignantly. 
■" The Dempford folks know nothing of this." 

"Certainly they don't ! Or they don't want to 
know. The prejudice against the dam, and against 
the boys on account of it, is just frightful ! " 

" But is there no way of letting the boats 
through ? " 

"To be sure there is. The new Commodore's 
new yacht went through yesterday. There are 
two boards, next to the platform by the mill ; can 
you see ? They pull up, and make an opening 
wide enough for the widest boats. And Lute has 
offered to build a regular lock, though there would 
be a great deal of work in it." 

" I should think that ought to satisfy them." 

"So we think," said Letty. "But, no! they 
must have the whole width of the river, no matter 
who suffers from the loss of the water-power." 

" I had no idea they could be so unreasonable 
as that ! '' 

' ' Why, they act like fiends ! A few nights ago 
some of them came — when everybody in the 
house was asleep, of course — and, not satisfied 
with injuring the dam all they could, broke the 
water-wheel of the mill, and did a great deal of 

"How mean! how cowardly!" exclaimed the 
sympathetic Tilly. " How little we know of a story 
when we have heard only one side ! " 

" You thought the mill-owners were monsters," 
laughed Letty. "As obstinate as they were mean; 
was that the phrase? " 

" Don't speak of it ! " Tilly threw her hands up 
to her face. " I never was so ashamed of any- 
thing ! I can never look them in the face again." 

"Don't feel so about it; they will take it as a 
good joke, that 's all. O Tilly ! I believe there 
never were such brothers as these of mine. They 
are so good to me and Mother ! and I know, I 
know they would never do wrong, even to an 

Tears sprang to Letty's eyes, while Tilly ex- 
claimed fervently : 

" I am sure they would n't ! " 

"But see how they are hated — just because 
they have rights and interests that are in the way 
of those selfish Argonauts ! " 

While they were talking, a man in a blue coat 
and a cap, with a metallic badge on his breast, 
came strolling up the Dempford side of the river. 
He crossed the bridge above, and walking up the 
road met a man in a gray coat and a hat, coming 
from the direction of Tammoset village. The 

* Copyright, 1882, by J. T. Trowbridge. All rights reserved. 



man in gray, it should be said, also had a metallic 
badge on his breast. 

Now when the Dempford man in blue met the 
Tammoset man in gray, they exchanged smiles 
and looked at their watches, much as if they had 
come to that particular spot by appointment ; then 
turned together into the by-road leading to the mill. 

" There comes the man we saw on the other side 
of the river," said Letty. " Another man with 
him. Business with the boys, I suppose. Oh, I 
hope it is n't that same old trouble ! " 

Seeing the girls in the tree, the two strangers 
turned their steps that way; and the Dempford 
man in blue, lifting his cap respectfully, inquired : 

" Is Mrs. Tinkham here ? " 

To which the Tammoset man in gray 
added, also touching his hat with clumsy 
politeness : 

"Mrs. Letitia Tinkham — is she at 
home ? " 

" That is my mother. She is in the 
house. Do you wish to see her ?" 

Letty, somewhat wonder-struck, had 
started up from her seat in the willow, 
and stood at the end of the plank. 

" If you will be so kind," said the Tammoset 
man in gray. 

Each at the same moment extended his docu- 
ment toward the astonished Letty with one hand, 
and touched hat or cap with the other. 

She advanced along the plank to the turf, and 
received the two envelopes, one in each hand. 


" I have a document for her," said the Dempford 
man in blue. 

"A document for her," repeated the Tammoset 
man in gray. 

Each at the same time drew from his breast- 
pocket an official-looking envelope of large size. 

"Please hand it to her," said the Dempford man. 
Vol. X. — 32. 

" If you will be so good 
as to give it to her at once ; 
very important," said the 
Dempford man in blue. 

" Quite important ; thank 
you," said the Tammoset 
man in gray. 

They then retired along 
the walk, and parted at the 
end of the by-road, after a 
brief parley ; the cap and 
the blue coat returning down 
the Dempford side of the river, while the gray coat 
and the hat took the road to Tammoset. 

"What does it mean? What shall I do with 

them ?" said Letty, in a tremor of doubt over the 

suspicious-looking envelopes. " Oh, here is Mart ! " 

" I don't exactly fancy such things just now," 

said Mart, with a puzzled and scowling expres- 




sion. " I wonder what sort of dynamite, or other 
explosive material, those mysterious packages 

" Could n't you open one ? " Letty asked. 

"No, my dear." Mart shook his head. "I 
never could break a seal addressed to Mother. 
There 's but one thing to do, happen what will. 
They must be put into her own hands. Lute ! " 
he called, " come into the house with me." 

Still looking at the envelopes, he walked slowly 
toward the door, quickly followed by Lute, who 
was followed by Rush, who was followed in turn 
by the two smaller boys. 

Lute and Rush, on coming up, also examined 
the envelopes. They were then returned to Letty. 

" They were handed to you, and I '11 let you 
deliver 'em," said Mart. "Goon alone. We'll 
be at hand if there 's need of us. Keep back, you 
young Tinkhams ! " 

Tilly, ashamed to face the brothers, remained in 
the tree. 

The widow, seated, with her crutch leaning 
against the window-pane at her side, had just 
taken up her sewing, when Letty came into the 

"You 're a person of great importance all at 
once, Mother ! " she said, with a laughing air. 
" See what two men have just brought you." 

" Brought me?" said Mrs. Tinkham, taking the 
missives. " This is strange." 

She saw the words, " Town of Tammoset," 
printed on one of the envelopes, along with the 
town's coat-of-arms, — a flag-staff with crossed 
swords, — and added, with a smile: 

"Oh! something about taxes, I suppose." 

But, before breaking the seal, she looked at the 
other envelope. That also bore a coat-of-arms, — 
an Indian in his canoe on a river, — with the 
words, "Town of Dempford." 

" But I don't owe any taxes in the town of 
Dempford, do I ? Of course not." 

With hands beginning to tremble she tore the 
wrapper, and took out a large sheet of letter- 
paper. The date was filled in after the printed 
form, " Office of the Town Clerk, Town of Demp- 
ford"; then followed the written message: 

" Mrs. Letitia Tinkham. 

"Madam : This is to notify you that the mill-dam appertaining to 
your property in Tammoset, which said dam abuts upon the shore of 
this Town of Dempford, and obstructs the passage of the river, has 
been declared a nuisance by the authorities o{ this said town, and 
you are hereby required to remove said dam within six days from 
this date. 

" Signed by the Town Clerk, by order of the Selectmen." 

Instead of trembling more, the widow's hands 
seemed to grow firmer as she opened the second 
envelope, and with sparkling eyes and compressed 
lips read the Tammoset document : 

"Dear Madam: Complaint being made that your mill-dam on 
Tammoset River, in this town, prevents the free passage of yachts 
and row-boats up and down said river, which is a natural public 
way, open to all, it is therefore ordered that the obstruction be at 
once demolished and removed. 

" Signed by the Town Clerk of the Town of Tammoset, by order 
of the Selectmen." 

"Where are the boys?" said the widow, in a 
quick, suppressed voice, looking up from the 

Chapter XXI. 


READING the effect of the 
papers upon their moth- 
er, the brothers came 
thronging into the room, 
and formed an anxious 
group around the wid- 
ow's chair. 

"Well ! here 's some- 
thing pleasant ! " she 
said, handing the papers 
to the two oldest. "They 
've been trying to scare 
you boys, and now they 
think they can frighten 
your poor old crippled 
mother! " 

' ' What is it all about? " 
cried Rush. " What do 
you mean by their trying to scare us boys ? " 

" Why, Rocket ! " she said, with a bright smile. 
"Do you imagine I am so stupid as not to have 
known anything of your troubles all this time ? Oh, 
you dear, deceitful, naughty, precious children ! " 
And the bright eyes flashed through tears. 
"Oh, Mother !" cried Letty, " have you known ? " 
" Yes, child; from the very first. I can hardly 
tell how I found out. It was in the air, as they 
say. Then I overheard Rupert whispering to 
Rodman about something I was n't to know, for 
fear it would make me unhappy. But you see I 
have n't been so very unhappy, after all." 

The tears were dashed resolutely away, and the 
smile was there still. 

" You have kept up, and have let us believe we 
were hiding it all from you, because you thought 
that would make its happier ! Oh, Mother ! " 
And Letty fell sobbing upon her neck. 
" There ! there ! This is no time for crying! " 
said the widow, crying with her the while, and 
caressing her with fervent affection. " There ! 
Why, I 'm as much a baby as you are ! You '11 
spoil my clean collar ! " 

" You 're the most wonderful woman in the 



world ! " Rush exclaimed, in a gust of feeling that 
filled his voice and his eyes. "And the best ! " 

"Did you think the mother of such children 
would show herself a coward ? " cried the widow. 
"But I let you amuse yourselves with your devices 
to keep me ignorant, and all the while I was 
watching you, deceiving you, loving you ! What 
do you say, boys, to those formidable town docu- 
ments ? " 

Unmanly as it may seem, those big sons of hers 
had half forgotten the launched thunderbolts of 
the local authorities which they held in their 
hands, and were winking their moist eyes over 
her surprising revelation. 

" You knew Tilly Loring was talking about our 
dam ? " said Rupert. 

" Certainly I did ! And the young men who 
came that day to the mill, and the two girls who 
came the day before — it was all about the dam, 
was n't it ? And don't you sleep in the mill, one 
of you, every night ? I was sure of it ! " 

"You're a w-w-witch, Mother!" said Lute, 
wiping his misty spectacles. 

" I should n't be the mother of the Tinkham 
boys if I was a fool ! Come in, come in, Tilly ! " 
called the widow, seeing the visitor's face pass the 
open door. " There are to be no more secrets. 
You and I have known only a part of the truth ; 
now we are to know all." 

" I 've told her," said Letty. 

"Then I am the only one kept in the dark! 
Well ! I forgive you, because I know you only 
meant to spare me. What are you afraid of, 
Tilly? My boys are not the hard-hearted wretches 
they are thought to be over in Dempford." 

" I never was so ashamed of anything in all my 
life!" said the remorseful Tilly, coming reluctantly 
into the room. 

"You need n't be; it 's a part of the fun." 
laughed Rush. 

Hardly re-assured by the cordial pleasantry with 
which she was received, Tilly sat down quietly in a 
corner, and heard a history of the troubles, as the 
boys told it to their mother. 

Dushce's duplicity, Buzrow and his crow-bar, 
the work of the night marauders, the interview with 
the Argonauts' committee, and, lastly, the missives 
of the town officers — every thing was discussed; and 
poor Tilly, in listening, burned anew with anger 
and shame at what she had heard in Dempford, 
and with sympathy for this noble mother and these 
brave boys. 

"I want to go right back to Dempford," she 
spoke up earnestly, "and tell my friends there what 
I now know." 

" It would n't be ot any use," said Rush. " You 
could'n't do more than Lew Bartland could. 

Both towns have gone mad, I believe ! Look at 
these papers ! " 

"It seems to be a pretty good day for t-t-town 
clerks and selectmen," said Lute. "Brave in 'em, 
is n't it, to join in making w-w-war on a woman ! " 

" I suppose they addressed Mother, because 
the property is in her name," said Rush. "But 
look at the meanness of it ! Do we live in a free 
country ? or under a tyranny, in an age of persecu- 
tion ? Who is going to obey their royal edicts, 
anyhow ? " 

"Mother, of course!" said Rupert. "She's 
going out there on her crutches, with shovel and 
tongs, to tear the dam away, because some old 
fools say she must, I fancy ! " 

"Or she can tell you and me to do it, Rupe," 
said Rodman. "And we will — when we get 

" Snap your fingers at the Dempford and Tam- 
moset selectmen. I would ! " Rupe rejoined. 

" Snapping our fingers is all very fine." said the 
widow, once more reaching out her hand for the 
papers. " But let 's see first what ground we have 
to stand on while we snap. This action of the 
two towns makes the matter look serious. What 
right have they to order the dam away ? " 

" About as much, I imagine," said Mart, handing 
the papers, which he had been studying in silence, 
" as they would have to order us to take our house 
away because it cuts off somebody's view. That 
is, if our dam has a right to be where it is. That 's 
the main question." 

" If the Argonauts have no right to meddle with 
it, then all the towns in the c-c-county have no 
right," said Lute. " They are just trying to 
b-b-bluff us; that 's all." 

" You have n't been much frightened yet, boys; 
and I glory in your spirit. But I 'm afraid there 's 
no shirking the fact that we have got into a terrible 
situation here by buying out Dushee. We have 
everything at stake ; and in maintaining our rights, 
we must know just what our rights are. One of you 
must go to town at once and see your uncle's 
lawyer, who looked up the title for you." 

All concurred in the wisdom of this step. The 
mother thought Martin should attend to a matter 
of so much importance. But he said : 

" It stands us in hand to keep as strong a force 
as possible here at the dam, about these times. 
Rocket is quick with a bean-pole ; but I suppose I 
could do more effective work, in case of an attack. 
In matters of business, though, he 's as level-headed 
as any of us ; and I say, let him slip into town and 
talk with the lawyer." 

"You 're right," said the mother ; "Rocket shall 

Rush shrank from so great a responsibility. 




"Just think," he said, "what a fix I have got 
you all in, by hunting up this place and making 
you buy it ! Don't trust me again." 

"Tut! tut!" cried the widow. "Nobody 
blames you for that, and you sha'n't blame your- 
self. See what train you can get, and be off." 

In half an hour he was on his way to town. 
Mrs. Tinkham was left alone with Letty and their 
guest, and the older boys had returned to the mill. 

In the interval of slack water, that afternoon, 
they showed their determination to keep the dam, 
and their defiance of the authorities of both towns, 
by an act which astonished some Argonauts who 
witnessed it, on going up the river. 

Without waiting for Rocket's return with the 
lawyer's latest counsel, they rebuilt the platform at 
the end of the dam, and put in the required fish- 

"We'll let 'em know we mean b-b-business," 
said Lute. 

Chapter XXII. 


^j_3t was late that evening when 
Rush returned home and 
entered his mother's room 
with an unusually serious 
air. He found Mart talking 
with her, and Lute followed 
him in. 

" What makes you so so- 
ber, Rocket?" Lute asked. 
"No bad news from the 
1-1-lawyer, I hope ? " 

Rush explained. He had 
found Uncle Dave in his 
shop, and they had gone to- 
gether to the lawyer's office. 
"Then I went home to supper with Uncle ; and 
I have just spent an hour in Cousin Tom's sick- 
room. I can't help feeling bad. for I don't expect 
ever to see him alive again." 

Then he had to tell all about their cousin before 
the business was again mentioned which made 
them all so anxious. 

" As to that," Rush then said, brightening, "it 
is all right ! I had a long talk with Mr. Keep in 
Uncle's presence, and I have written down the most 
important things he said." 

Mrs. Tinkham nodded approvingly, as he drew 
from his pocket a paper, which he unfolded. 

" He says, since we own one bank of the river, 
and have secured by purchase a privilege on the 
opposite bank, we have a right to construct and 
maintain a dam which does not change the course 
of the stream, nor injure anybody by setting back 

the water. Of course, I told him, nobody claimed 
that we do that. " 

Rush continued, bending toward the light on his 
mother's table, and looking over his memorandum: 

'• He says, if we have n't that right, then nobody 
has a private right to dam any mill-stream in the 
country. A dam, wherever placed, is liable to be 
in the way of somebody ; but if the fisherman or 
boatman who finds it an obstacle has a right to 
destroy it, where is there an unchartered dam that 
would be safe ? The fact that, instead of two or 
three persons, two or three hundred wish it away, 
or even all the inhabitants of two towns, — that, he 
says, makes no difference. If we have a right to 
our mill-power against the wishes of one individ- 
ual, we have a right to it against the world. Only 
legislative enactments can touch it." 

Lute clapped his hands gleefully. 

" Let the Argonauts put that in their pipe and 
smoke it," drawled Mart. " Go ahead, Rocket." 

" There is only one question — is this a naviga- 
ble stream ? For, of course, no person has any right 
to obstruct navigation." 

" He told us once it could n't come under the 
legal definition of a navigable stream," said Mart. 
" That 's what I 've relied on." 

" You can rely on it still," replied Rush. " To 
make sure, I had him show me something on the 
subject he quoted from Chief-justice Shaw; and I 
copied it." 

" Rocket, you 're the joy of my heart ! " cried 
his mother, delighted. 

" In the case of Rowe versus Granite Bridge 
Company, Chief-justice Shaw says : ' It is not 
every small creek, in which a fishing-skiff or gun- 
ning-canoe can be made to float at high water, 
which is deemed navigable. But it must be navi- 
gable,'" Rush went on, reading with emphasis, 
" ' to some pu?-pose useful to trade or agriculture.' " 

" P-p-precisely ! " stammered Lute. 

" The business of these pleasure-boats that find 
our dam a nuisance," Mart remarked, in his dryest 
manner, "is trade and agriculture at a tremen- 
dous rate ! " 

" He showed me something similar in two or 
three other cases," said Rush. " Important deci- 
sions, all to the same effect. Boys ! " he added, 
triumphantly, " if language means anything, and 
if Chief-justice Shaw knew more law than the 
Argonauts, then this is not a navigable stream, 
and we have a right to dam it." 

" What did he say to the orders sent us by the 
two towns ? " Mrs. Tinkham inquired. 

"He laughed at 'em. He said just what Mart 
said — that they might as well order us to take our 
house or barn away. The fact that the dam has 
been there so many years, without being seriously 

i88 3 .] 



objected to, makes our position all the stronger," 
Rush added, again referring to his memorandum. 

"And the other question — about defending it?" 
Mart asked. 

" ' You have the same right which every man has 
to defend his property. You can use all the force 
necessary to drive away assailants. Knocking 
them on the head will be good for 'em.'" 

Rush laughed as he read. He had even that 
down in his memorandum. 

" I trust it wont come to that," drawled Mart. 
"But it 's well to know just what our rights are. 
' Strong reasons make strong actions,' as Father 
used to say." 

"And as Shakespeare said before him. Your 
father was a reader of Shakespeare," said Mrs. 
Tinkham. After a pause, she added: " But, oh, 
boys ! it does seem as if there must be some way 
to settle these troubles without a resort to brute 
force ! What did your uncle advise ? " 

" To keep within the law, and get along peace- 
ably if we can, but to fight it out if we must." 

" Exactly our p-p-position all the time," said 

" He thinks we should try to influence public 
opinion by talking with prominent men, and by 
making a candid statement of our case in the 

"Excellent advice," said the widow. "I am 
sure the prejudice against us all arises from a 
misunderstanding. We will begin with that." 

" We may as well reason with the w-w-wind," 
said Lute. " Though it wont do any harm to try. 
If we knew how to g-g-go to work." 

"I '11 think it over," his mother replied. " We 
can do nothing now until Monday." 

But before she slept that night the widow had 
written for the two-headed local newspaper an 
appeal to the public, full of plain facts and good 
sense, yet burning with the eloquence of a mother 
pleading for justice to her boys. 

" One thing," Rush said to his brothers as they 
went out together, " I forgot to mention. See 
here ! " 

He picked up a small bundle, which he had 
dropped by the doorstep on returning home. 

" What in time is it ?" said Mart. 

" It 's the lasso Cousin Tom brought home from 
Texas two years ago, and which he tried to teach 
us how to throw, you remember." 

" The lasso ! Ho, ho ! " said Mart. " I do 
remember ; and I don't believe I 've forgotten our 
practice, either." 

" It 's the b-b-best hint yet," said Lute. " I 
wonder it had n't oc-c-ccurred to us." 

" He said it might come in play," laughed 

Chapter XXIII. 



&£k1 ,0 

irs. Tinkham's appeal to the 
public having been read and 
approved by the boys, it was 
decided that it ought to go 
into the next issue of the 
6S[ * Janus-faced newspaper. It 
\~KrO\ was P ut ' nt0 R usn ' s hands, 
\ I £s»L/ and early Monday forenoon 
he took it to the printing- 
office in Dcmpford. 

He found the editor in his 
shirt-sleeves, setting type for 
his paper with his own hands. 
As that guardian of the pub- 
lic interests of two towns 
seemed inclined to finish his 
JA di\ll stick before attending to other 
business, Rush could not help 
glancing at the "copy" he 
was at work on — a strip of 
^i^f" 1 J 3, manuscript, stuck up before 
him on the case. 

It was entitled, "A New 
Yacht and an Old Nuisance." 
" Something for Mart's 
scrap-book," Rush said to 
himself. And, since it was 
evidently designed for the 
public eye, he ventured to 
read a little of it in advance. 
He had skimmed along far 
"^' enough to see that it was 

extravagantly laudatory of Commodore Foote and 
his yacht, and violently abusive of the dam, 
" which proved a serious hinderance to that fine 
new craft in its passage up the river last Friday," 
when the type-setter looked up and saw what he 
was doing. 

But that personage did not appear in the least 
displeased ; on the contrary, he smiled at Rush's 
indiscretion, remarking: 

" Guess that '11 tickle the boys some, wont it ? " 
"No doubt it will tickle a good many," replied 
Rush. " But there are some it wont tickle." 

" Who are they? " inquired the editor, in some 

"The Tinkham boys," said Rush. 
" Who cares for the Tinkham boys?" said the 
editor. "They 've got no friends." 

" They 're not overrun with them," said Rush. 
" If they were, I suppose we should see fewer 
articles of that sort." 






" Well ! " exclaimed the editor, turning, and 
for the first time looking the visitor full in the face. 
" I thought I knew you, but I see I don't. You 're 
a curiosity ! " 

" Am I, though ? " said Rush, smiling. 

" Yes ! " said the editor, with good-humored 
frankness. "You 're the first fellow I 've seen take 
their part." 

" You have n't seen me take their part," replied 
Rush. " Though I don't know why I should n't." 

" You know them ? " 

" Pretty well. I ought to. I am one of them." 

"Is it possible!" said the astonished local 
editor. "You! I thought they were great rough 
rowdies ! " 

" Am not I a great rough rowdy ? " Rush asked. 
"Well, I have two brothers older and larger than 
I, but not a bit rougher or more rowdyish. I felt 
sure that you had been misinformed in regard to 
us, and for that reason I have called to see you." 

" Walk in here; sit down," said the local editor, 
showing a door that opened into a small, littered 
editorial room. " I shall be glad to talk," remov- 
ing some newspapers from a chair. " What can I 
do for you ? " 

" Justice, I hope. That 's all we ask." 

Rush smiled to see that his presence was embar- 
rassing to this disseminator of local prejudices. 

" Here is a brief statement of the facts in our 
case," taking his mother's appeal from his pocket, 
"which we should like to have you print If you 
will take the trouble to read it, you will see what I 

The editor looked it through with a perturbed 
countenance, then appeared to be bracing himself 
for an act of firmness. 

" Do you expect me to put such an article as 
that into my paper? " he asked, turning to Rush. 

"We hoped you would. We supposed you 
would wish to be fair to both sides. " 

"Fair — certainly! But" — the editor struck 
the paper on his desk — "I couldn't print an 
article like that for any consideration ! " 

"Why not? " 

"Because — obviously — don't you see? — it 
would n't do ! " 

Rush persisted in wishing to know why it 
would n't do. 

" You never had experience with a local weekly, 
or you would n't need to be told," said the editor, 
showing some irritation. "My readers would n't 
stand it, and it would make a hum about my ears 
that /could n't stand." 

" Then you print only what you think will 
please your readers ? " said Rush. 

" In one sense, yes," replied the editor, frankly. 

"Excuse me," said Rush. "I thought the 

business of a newspaper was to lead public opin- 
ion, and to correct it where it was wrong." 

This was one of the phrases his mother had 
armed him with, and it came in aptly here. The 
editor colored deeply through his thick, sallow 

"That is incidental. We publish a newspaper 
mainly for the same reason that you make dolls' 

" We try to make good, honest dolls' car- 
riages," said Rush — " genuine in every part. We 
would n't make any others." 

The editor coughed, colored still more confus- 
edly, glanced once more at the article, and finally 
handed it back. 

" I should lose forty subscribers if 1 printed it; 
and of course you can't expect me to be such a 
fool. I wish to be fair to both sides, as you say ; 
but in this matter there is really but one side — 
that of the public interest. Ninety-nine persons out 
of every hundred in this community wish the dam 
away, and I am not going to swamp my business 
by opposing them. I don't know anything about 
you and your brothers ; I 've nothing against you, 
personally. But you 're in an unfortunate position, 
and you must get out of it the best way you can. 
That 's my candid opinion." 

"Thank you!" Rush returned the paper to 
his pocket, and was taking leave so quietly that 
the editor followed him to the outer door, thinking 
he saw a chance for a little stroke of business. 

" I believe your family is not represented in my 
list of subscribers." 

"I rather think not!" replied Rush, with a 

" You '11 find my columns full of matters of 
local interest ; always fresh and timely. I should 
like your subscription." 

"We '11 think of it," said Rush, dryly, and with- 
drew in the midst of the editor's explanation that 
the Tammoset Times and the Dempfoni Gazette 
were the same paper, and they could have it, 
under either name, at two dollars a year, in 

"I 've kept my temper, and that's about all I 
have done," thought Rush, as he walked away. 

The editor meanwhile returned to his case of 
type, and resumed work on the "fresh and timely" 
article concerning "A New Yacht and an Old 

The Tinkhams made two or three more attempts 
to combat the general prejudice, but succeeded 
only in discovering how strong and how wide- 
spread it was, and how completely men of influence 
were under its control. Politicians and public 
officers were, in fact, as fearful of losing place and 
votes as the editor had been of losing subscribers,. 


by seeming to favor in any way the cause of the 
widow and her sons. 

Then came a sudden interruption to these 
efforts. A dispatch was received, announcing 
the death of Cousin Tom ; and the boys must 
attend his funeral. 

"We'll risk the dam for an afternoon," said 
Mart, " no matter what happens." 

The Argonauts had continued so very quiet, and 
the brothers had got the idea so firmly fixed in 

their minds that the next attack would be in the 
night-time, that they did not consider the risk 
very great. 

All the family accordingly attended Tom's 
funeral, except the mother, who staid at home on 
account of her lameness. 

She afterward had reason to wish that she had 
gone, too. Better have been anywhere that after- 
noon, she declared, than at home without her 
boys ! 

(To be continued.) 

By M. M. D. 

May day and June day. 

Spring and Summer weather , 
Going to rain; going to clear; 

Trying both together. 
Flowers are coming ! No, they 're not. 

Whilst the air 's so chilly ; 
First it 's cold, then it 's hot — 

Is n't weather silly ? 
S'pose the little vi'lets think 

Spring is rather funny, 
So they hide themselves away, 

Even where it 's sunny. 
S'pose the trees must think it 's time 

To begin their growing. 
See the little swelling buds ! 

See how plain they 're showing ! 
S'pose they know they 're going to make 

Peaches, apples, cherries. 
Even vines and bushes know 

When to start their berries. 
Only little girls like me 

Don't know all about it : 
May be, though, the reason is 

We can do without it. 
Winter-time and Summer-time 

We keep on a-growing; 
So, you see, we need n't be — 

Like the flowers, and like the trees, 

And the birds and bumble-bees — 
Always wise and knowing. 




By Alice Wellington Rollins. 

.mtfvKl'Uli".. liAlfeilli'.. 1 

■ .■■•V'^/fetite-Jfe.... 


The baby ? " we asked, as with mop and broom 
Its mother came to the ranch one day. 

Oh, she 's picketed out across the way ! 
I dare not leave her alone in the room." 

And the busy mother looked for a tub, 
While we saddled our horses and rode to see 
How the lonely baby fared, while we 
Had stolen its mother to sweep and scrub. 


For the babies we were accustomed to 
Could never have kept their silk and lace 
And little be-ribboned hats in place, 
With only a tree for their nurse, we knew. 

But this Kansas baby had no hat ; 

And it laughed as if it thought silk and lace 

Would have been entirely out of place 

On a prairie, — or, for the matter of that, 



Anywhere else. It could only go 
The length of the rope ; but its little feet 
Pattered about where the grass was sweet, 
Just as it pleased ; and that, you know, 

Is more than the city babies do : 

For, trundled under the city trees, 

They are carried just where the nurses please, 

Which I should n't like at all ; should you ? 

As I thought it over, it seemed to me 
That a city darling has less to hope, 
" Picketed out" with invisible rope 
To a somewhat less reliable tree ! 





By Cora Linn Daniels. 

EGGY was out in the 
orchard picking up 
apples. They were 
summer apples — 
yellow, crisp, and so 
ripe that they would 
crack open just as 
easy ! And some of 
them had grown so fast and so 
freshly after the late showers, that 
they were full of water at the core ! 
Fine, juicy apples and a clear, 
bright morning are enough to make 
any little girl happy. No wonder 
Peggy sang. And Peggy could sing 
very well indeed. She had never 
been taught, but that did n't seem 
to make any difference. She be- 
gan to sing even before she could 
talk — a sort of pleasant little hum- 
ming, that would make her grand- 
ma say, " She will make a cheerful 
woman ! " 

But Peggy was getting to be quite 
a young lady ; and, on the morning 
when our story opens, she was sing- 
ing gaily a pretty little song she 
had learned at school. The hap- 
pier she became the louder she sang; 
and her voice rang out through the 
sunny orchard until the shadows 
of the leaves on the grass actually 
seemed to dance about with pleasure, and chase 
each other, first this way and then that, some- 
times hitting a golden apple, sometimes darken- 
ing the rose in a clover-head, sometimes making 
a little mask on Peggy's upturned face, almost 
as if they would like to kiss her white fore- 
head. I suppose it was the breeze sweeping softly 
among the branches that made the shadows dance 
so, but it seemed as if they danced to Peggy's 
singing. She had nearly filled her basket, and 
was about to pick up the last tempting-looking 
globe, when she saw something sparkle very 
brilliantly in the grass. Stooping quickly, but 
not ceasing in her song, she picked up the shining 
thing, and looking at it in amazement, became 
dumb with surprise. It was a lovely diamond ring ! 
Peggy counted the sparkling stones. One, two, 
three, ciglit glowing, bewitching bits of color and 
shine, reflecting the trees and the sky, the apples 

and the clover. She could see every shade of the 
rainbow in the precious jewel, and she was almost 
wild with delight. She slipped it on her finger, 
looking at it first in this way, and then in that. 
She could hardly take her eyes from it. "Well," 
said she, ''I am so glad!" Just then, "Peggy! 
Peggy ! " came pleasantly from the house. " I must 
go," said she to herself. " Grandma is calling. 
What will she say to this ? Why, she will say it is 
not mine, and that 1 musf not keep it ; I know she 
will ! But it is mine. I found it in our orchard, 
and I know it is mine. I will keep it. I never 
had so lovely a thing before, and I mean to keep 
it." Peggy said this to herself out loud, and shook 
her head hard. Then she put the ring in her little 
pocket, and, picking up the basket, started for 
the house. "I will not tell her yet," said she to 
herself. " I will think it over." 

When she got to the great, breezy kitchen, her 
dear grandma was "up to her ears in flour" — as 
she herself would have expressed it — making pies. 
"Oh!" said she, with a cheery laugh, when 
Peggy came in, tugging the heavy basket along in 
both hands, "my little 'help' has arrived. I am 
going to make a turn-over for my 'help.' But, 
Peggy, what is the matter? What has happened? 
Are you unhappy, dear ? " 

" No, ma'am," said Peggy, rather sullenly, " I 'm 
not." And then she blushed. She thought to 
herself: " I wonder if it shows right in my face, 
that Grandma can see something has happened? 
I don't believe I am very happy, either. I don't 
feel so glad as I did." 

On the first opportunity she ran upstairs and 
hid the ring in her own little chest. It had a till 
in it — just the cunningest place to hide any little 
object ! When she tucked it away, she again 
almost kissed the beautiful stones — they were so 
like icicles and sunsets, and everything pretty and 
fairy-like she had ever dreamed of. 

She was eleven years old, and had been quite a 
reader. She knew that diamonds were very valu- 
able, and had even read in her "Child's Philosophy 
of Little Things" of what they were composed, and 
how difficult it was to obtain them. "I have a 
fortune of my own now," she said to herself, as 
she shut down the cover of her chest and turned 
the key. " I am a rich lady ; and if I ever want 
to sell my beautiful ring I can buy ever so many 
things with it — books, and pretty dresses, and 
even a necklace like Cora May's ! Hum ! I guess 



if the girls knew what I have got they would not 
put on so many airs over their little gold-heart 
rings and coral chains. I should just like to show 
my lovely diamond once ! " 

Then she began to sing, but in the very first 
line of the song she stopped. She turned a little 
pale, and stood looking out of the hall window 
with a strange sort of stare. Before her spread 
the summer scene. The old windmill swung 
its great sails about lazily. Robins and sparrows 
chirped and twittered busily. The old-fashioned 
garden, with its troop of herbs and flowers, its 
shrubs and bushes, half clipped, half straggling, 
sent up a subtle fragrance, and ever and anon the 
little brook could be heard rippling over the stones 
by the bridge, where she had so many times 
waded and "had fun" with her little friends. 

But Peggy did not notice anything of this. She 
was thinking: "I don't feel like singing; but I 
can't, I wont, give up my splendid ring. If I tell 
of it, Grandma will tell all the neighbors, and the 
owner will be found and claim it. It is not the 
owner's any more. They should not have lost it. 
I found it, and now it is mine. I don't care if I 
can't sing. I can look at my ring whenever I 
please." Upon this she began to cry as though 
her heart would break, just to prove how happy 
she was in doing wrong. But in a few minutes 
she brushed away her tears, for she was a resolute 
little girl, and went down-stairs. 

"Why, Peggy, you must be sick, dear. You 
have been crying, I am sure," said her loving 
grandmother immediately. "Or are you un- 
happy? Come to me, child, and tell me all about 
it. Do ! I know I can help my little girl." 

" Grandma," said Peggy, pettishly, "I have only 
a headache. I have nothing to tell." ("That 
was not true," she added to herself, with the just- 
ice and severity of a judge.) Peggy was no igno- 
rant wrong-doer. She knew as well as you and I 
do, dear reader, that she was going away from all 
the pure and good things which she had ever been 
taught. Just then a neighbor came in. Her name 
was Mrs. Smart. She always knew all the news 
of the neighborhood just as soon as it happened 
— sometimes before ! 

" They 've had a great time up to the boardin'- 
house," said she. 

Now, Grandma did not like to listen to the 
stories which Mrs. Smart was so apt to tell. She 
knew that very often they turned out to be false, 
and in any case they were gossip. Every school- 
girl and school-boy knows what gossip is. \\ nen 
you grow up, I hope you will not get to be like 
Mrs. Smart. If you do, you will pry and peak 
and ask questions, and hint around until you find 
some little thing that you can twist into a storv 

against somebody, — (never for anybody, be sure of 
that!) — and then you will go from house to house 
to tell the evil thing you have imagined, thus doing 
injury to innocent people, and meddling with mat- 
ters which do not concern you. 

" Yes," said Mrs. Smart, "they 've had a great 
time up there. One of the fine ladies has lost her 
diamond ring. It was stolen from her by a cham- 
bermaid. Poor gyurl ! I do pity her, if she is a 
thief! There she sits a-cryin' ! The lady knows 
it was that gyurl, for she was the last person in the 
room, and the lady is sure that she left her ring on 
the bureau, and when she came up to breakfast it 
was gone, and the gyurl herself said nobody else 
had been in the room ! They 've searched her 
trunks and can't find nothin', but they made such 
a fuss that Mr. Laird has discharged the poor 
thing, and she 's agoin'." 

"What lady was it?" questioned Grandma, for 
she was quite interested. 

'"T was that Miss Dulcimer that was down here 
a-tryin' to buy your chiney t' other day. She feels 
very badly, too ! 'T was her mother's ring, and 
folks say 't was worth four hundred dollars ! " 

Peggy trembled with excitement, but her voice 
was pretty calm as she said: "Which way did she 
go home from here, Grandma ? Was it while I 
was at school ? " 

"• Yes ; it was day before yesterday, in the after- 
noon. She went up to the boarding-house through 
the orchard, because it was cooler; she said." 

"Well," said Mrs. Smart, "I must go, for I 
want to see that guilty gyurl off. She was a-sittin' 
in the kitchen cryin' as if her heart would break, 
and a-tellin' how she never done no such thing; 
but you never can tell ! Those gyurls are so de- 
ceivin'. I presume she 's got the ring somewhere 
about her clothes now. At any rate, she wont 
get another place very soon. I kinder pity her, 
and yet it serves her right." 

" Is she going away?" asked Grandma. 

"Yes; in the stage, — why, I hear it now, — 
good-bye. I 'm agoin' to see how she takes it when 
she goes ! " 

Peggy sprang upstairs like a deer. She went 
straight to her chest. Through the window came 
the rumble of the stage, nearer and nearer. In a 
minute or two it would reach the boarding-house, 
and go on. Peggy looked for the key. It was not 
under the mat, as usual. Where could it be ? 
Peggy tried to think, but her head seemed in a 
whirl. " What could I have done with the key? " 
she sobbed. Putting her hand up to her neck, she 
happened to feel a little ribbon. "Oh, yes." she 
sighed in relief. She had tied the key to a ribbon, 
and placed it about her neck ; for now that she had 
a diamond ring in her chest, she would have to be 

5 o8 



more careful, she had said to herself. But the 
ribbon was tied in a hard knot, and was too strong 
to break. The ominous rumble had stopped ; the 
stage had reached the boarding-house. " What 
shall I do ? " groaned Peggy, her heart beating 
with fright and anxiety. "Oh! I must get into 
my chest. " Then she saw a penknife on the table. 
In an instant she had cut the ribbon and unlocked 
the chest, caught up the ring, and run down- 
stairs. Her grandma called, "Where are you 
going? " but she dashed like a whirlwind through 
the kitchen, cleared the two steps at a bound, and 
went up the road like a flash. How she ran ! Her 
heart beat like a trip-hammer, but her ears were 
wide open to catch the sound of the stage. Round 
the corner, by the end of the orchard, she still kept 
on ; but just as she came in front of the trim 
croquet-ground, she saw the stage start off from 
the door. 

After it she sped with all her might. The sum- 
mer boarders were all collected in front of the 
house. Mrs. Smart was by the road, watching the 
last tears of the unfortunate maid ; some fashion- 
able city children, whom Peggy had always feared, 
and almost disliked, because they were so "airy," 
as she called it, were right in her path ; but she 
went after the stage as if her life depended on it. 
"Whoa!" she cried. "Stop! Whoa! Driver! 
Driver! Stop!" ("Oh, dear!" — under her breath 
— " I can never make him hear. I can ; I will ! ") 
" Stop f" she screamed, this time with all her little 
might, and, as she had almost reached the stage, 
the driver heard, and brought his horses to a 

" Which is the girl? " said Peggy, breathlessly, 
adding, as she caught sight of the poor maid : 
" Here 's the ring ! You must get out and go back ! 
You must! I found it. I '11 tell them. Come !" 

The girl gave a cry of joy, and immediately got 
out of the stage. 

" Yes," said she to the astonished driver, " you 
must put my trunk down, for I shall not go. They 
will all see I did not steal the ring now ! " and, as 
he complied with her order, she clasped Peggy to 
her heart and said: "You dear little girl ! How 
good of you to run so ! How glad I am you found 
it ! I can never thank you enough." 

Peggy was panting and half sobbing, but she 
went with the happy maid to the house, and handed 
the ring to the delighted Miss Dulcimer. 

"Where did you find it, you splendid cjiild?" 
said that gushing person, who had not been kind 
and just enough to make sure before she had had the 
unoffending maid discharged. " I want to make 
you a little present, to show my gratitude. Here 
are ten dollars, and I can not say how very thankful 
I am to you for being so honest and good." 

" I was not honest at all," said Peggy, whose 
flaming cheeks and excited eyes made her look 
very pretty indeed. " I thank you very much, but 
I don't want any present. I don't deserve it. 
Yes, I will take it, though," she added; and, having 
taken the bill in her hand, she said to the maid, who 
was standing by, a silent witness of the scene: 
" You deserve it much more than I ; keep it," and 
with a half laugh, half sob, she put the bill into the 
maid's hand, and fled out of the room and down 
the lane without another word. It was not very 
polite, but she really could n't stay there another 
minute. She wanted to get to her dear grandma, 
and be comforted and forgiven. She ran down 
home almost as fast as she had come up the hill; 
but this time she was not anxious or unhappy. 
She noticed the sweet smell of a bed of mignonettes 
in the door-yard, and heard one of her doves "co- 
roo, co-roo " on the roof as she went in. Grandma 
met her, looking worried and troubled. " Peggy," 
said she, rather severely, " how strangely you act 
this morning. What is the matter with you?" 

Then Peggy put her arms around her grandma's 
neck, and told her everything about it — how she 
had found the ring and was bound to keep it, and 
felt so wicked, and then was so frightened for fear she 
should not be able to save the poor, wronged girl ; 
and how she ran and how she made the driver hear, 
and all about it from beginning to end; and even 
how she could not sing as she stood by the window 
that morning. " But I can sing now, Grandma ! " 
she exclaimed, and broke into a little trill as happy 
and free as any bird's. 

"Yes, dear," said Grandma, with a smile, "you 
can sing even more happily than ever, for you have 
learned to-day what a terrible thing it is to carry, 
even for one moment, the sense that you are doing 
wrong, and also the peace that comes from resisting 
temptation and obeying the voice of conscience." 

And when, next morning, Peggy went out into 
the orchard to pick up some more apples, she sang 
as blithely as ever, and had not a sad thought in 
her mind. 

i88 3 .J 



Mil <»' 




By Clara Erskine Clement. 


THE greatest painter among the pupils of 
Rubens was Anton or Anthony Vandyck (or Van 
Dyck, as it is also spelled). He was born at Ant- 
werp in 1599. His father was a silk-merchant, and 
his mother was a lady of artistic tastes ; though 
she had twelve children, she yet found time to do 
much embroidery and tapestry work. She had a 
daughter named Susannah, and it may have been 
on account of this child that her finest work was a 
large piece on which the story of Susannah was 
represented. She was occupied with this before 
the birth of Anthony, who was her seventh child, 
and during his early years she skillfully plied her 
needle, and wrought her many-colored silks into 
landscapes and skies, trees and houses, men and 

animals, with untiring patience and uncommon 

It is easy to understand that this mother must 
have rejoiced to find that Anthony had artistic 
talent, and it is probable that it was through her 
influence that he became a pupil under the artist 
Heinrich von Balen when he was but ten years 
old. He was still a boy, not more than seventeen, 
when he entered the studio of Rubens, just at the 
time when the great master was devoting himself 
to his art with his whole soul, and had a large 
number of young students under his direction. 

Vandyck soon became the favorite pupil of 
Rubens, and was early allowed to do such work as 
proved that the great artist even then appreciated 
the genius of the brilliant and attractive youth — 
for such we are told that Vandyck was. Among 




other things, Rubens intrusted to Vandyck the 
labor of making drawings from his pictures, to be 
used by the engravers who made prints after his 
works, for which there was a great demand at this 
time. It was necessary that these drawings should 
be very exact, so that the engravings should be as 


nearly like the original works as possible ; and the 
fact that Vandyck, when still so young, was chosen 
for this important task, proves that he must have 
been unusually skillful and correct in his drawings. 
Rubens left his studio but rarely, and when he 
did so, his pupils were in the habit of bribing his 
old servant to unlock the door of his private room, 
that they might see what the master had done. 
The story goes that, on one occasion, just at even- 
ing, when the master was riding, the scholars, as 
they looked at his work, jostled each other and 
injured the picture, which was not yet dry. They 
were filled with alarm, and feared expulsion from 

the school. After a consultation, they begged 
Vandyck to restore the injured picture. With some 
hesitation he did so, and to the eyes of the pupils 
it was so well done that they counted on escaping 
discovery. The keen eye of the master, however, 
detected the work of another hand than his own ; 
he summoned all the pupils and de- 
manded an explanation, and when he 
knew all that had happened, he made 
no comment. It has even been said that 
he was so well pleased that he left the 
picture as Vandyck had restored it. 
Some writers say that this accident hap- 
pened to the face of the Virgin and the 
arm of the Magdalen, in the great pict- 
ure of the " Descent from the Cross," 
now in the Antwerp Cathedral; but we 
are not at all certain of the truth of this 

In 1618, Vandyck was admitted into 
the Guild of Painters at Antwerp, a great 
honor to a youth of nineteen. In 1620, 
Rubens advanced him from the rank of 
a pupil to that of an assistant, and in 
1623, when Rubens made a contract to 
decorate the Jesuit Church at Antwerp, 
a clause was inserted which provided 
that Vandyck should be employed in the 
work, showing that he then had a good 
reputation in his native city. It was 
about 1618 when an agent of the Earl 
of Arundel wrote to his employer : "Van- 
dyck lives with Rubens, and his works 
are beginning to be almost as much 
esteemed as those of his master. He is 
a young man of one-and-twenty, with a 
very rich father and mother in this city, 
so that it will be very difficult to per- 
suade him to leave this country, espe- 
cially since he sees the fortune that 
Rubens is acquiring." 

This hint was enough for the Earl of 
Arundel, who was a great patron of the 
arts, and he immediately began to make 
such offers to Vandyck as would induce him to go 
to England. Rubens, on the other hand, urged 
his pupil to go to Italy ; but at last, in 1620, while 
Rubens was absent in Paris, Vandyck went to 
England. Very little is known of this, his first 
visit there, beyond the fact that it is recorded on 
the books of the Exchequer that King James I. 
gave him one hundred pounds for some special 
service ; and again, in 1621, the records show that 
Vandyck was called " His Majesty's servant," and 
was granted a pass to travel for eight months. It is 
not known, however, that he went again to England 
until some years later, when Charles I. was king. 

i83 3 .] 



In 1622, Vandyck was invited to 
the Hague by Frederick of Nassau, 
Prince of Orange. While there he 
painted some fine portraits, but he 
was suddenly called home by the ill- 
ness of his father, who died soon 
after his son reached his side. The 
Dominican Sisters had nursed his 
father with great tenderness, and 
before his death he obtained a prom- 
ise from Anthony to paint a picture 
for the Sisterhood. Seven years later 
he fulfilled his promise, and painted 
a Crucifixion, with St. Dominick and 
St. Catherine near by. There was a 
rock at the foot of the cross, on which 
he placed this curious inscription, in 
Latin: ''Lest the earth should be 
heavy upon the remains of his father, 
Anthony van Dyck moved this rock 
to the foot of the cross, and gave it 
to this place." In 1785, this picture 
was bought for the Academy of Ant- 
werp, where it now is. 

Rubens advised Vandyck to devote 
himself especially to portrait-paint- 
ing, and it has been said that he did 
this because he was jealous of the 
great talent of his pupil. But time 
has proved that it was the wisest and 
most friendly counsel that he could 
have given him. As a portrait-paint- 
er Vandyck ranks beside Titian, and 
they two excel all others in that spe- 
cial art — in the period, too, when it 
reached the highest excellence it has 
ever known. 

When Vandyck was ready to go 
to Italy he made a farewell visit to 
Rubens, and presented him with 
three of his pictures. One of these, 
" The Romans Seizing Christ in the 
Garden of Gethsemane," Rubens 
hung in the principal room of his 
house, and was never weary of prais- 
ing it. The master returned his pu- 
pil's generosity by presenting him 
with one of his finest horses. Van- 
dyck made his first stop at Savel- 
them, a village near Brussels. Here 
he fell in love with a girl named 
Anna van Ophem, and forgot Italy 
and his art while gazing in her face 
and wandering by her side through 
the fair valley in which she dwelt. 
But Anna regretted his idleness, and 
was curious to see the pictures that 




he could paint. Finally, he yielded to her persua- 
sions, and painted two pictures for the parish church 
of Savelthem. 

One of these was a " Holy Family," in which the 
Virgin was a portrait of Anna, while St. Joachim 
and St. Anna represented her father and mother. 
This picture he gave to the church. It has long 
since disappeared, and it is said that it was used 
to make grain-bags by French foragers. The sec- 
ond picture, for which he was paid, represented 
St. Martin of Tours, when he divided his cloak 
with two beggars. The saint was a portrait of Van- 
dyck himself, and the horse he rode was painted 
from that which Rubens had given him. This 
picture was very dear to the people of Savelthem, 
and when, in 1758, they discovered that the parish 
priest had agreed to sell it, they armed themselves 
with pitchforks and other homely weapons, and, 
surrounding the church, insisted that the picture 
should not be removed. In 1806, however, they 
were powerless before the French soldiers, and 
though they loved their saint as dearly as ever, he 
was borne away to Paris and placed in the gallery 
of the Louvre, where he remained until 181 5, when 
he was taken again to Savelthem and restored to 
his original place. It is also said that, in 1850, a 
rich American offered $20,000 to anyone who would 
bring this picture to him, no matter how it was 
obtained. Some rogues tried to steal it, but the 
watch-dogs of Savelthem barked so furiously that 
the men of the village were alarmed, and rushed 
to the church so quickly that the robbers scarcely 
escaped. Since then a guard sleeps in the church, 
and St. Martin is undisturbed, and may always be 
seen there dividing his cloak and teaching the les- 
son of that Christian charity for which his own life 
was remarkable. 

When Rubens heard of this long stay in Savel- 
them he was much displeased, and wrote to Van- 
dyck such letters as induced him to go to Venice, 
where he studied the portraits of Giorgione and 
Titian with great profit. His industry was untiring, 
and he made many copies, besides painting some 
original pictures. From Venice Vandyck went to 
Genoa, where Rubens had formerly been so much 
admired that his pupil was sure to be well received. 
Being welcomed for his master's sake, he soon 
made himself beloved for his own: for Vandyck 
was elegant and refined in his manners, and these 
qualities, in addition to his artistic powers, gained 
for him all the patronage that he desired. Many 
of the portraits which he then painted in Genoa 
are still seen in its splendid palaces. 

When Vandyck went to Rome, he was invited by 
the Cardinal Bentivaglio to make one of his family. 
This prelate had been a papal embassador in Flan- 
ders, and had a fondness for the country and its 

people. He was therefore very friendly to Van- 
dyck, and employed him to paint a Crucifixion, and 
a portrait of himself. This portrait is now one of 
the treasures of the Pitti Gallery, in Florence. A 
copy made by John Smybert, a Scotch artist, who 
came to Boston early in the last century, hangs in 
one of the halls of Harvard College. 

Vandyck found that the Flemish artists in Rome 
were a rude and uncongenial company, and he 
avoided their society. This so affronted them that 
they became his enemies, and he shortened his stay 
in Rome on that account, and returned to Genoa 
two years after he had left it. There he found a 
charming friend in Sofonisba Anguisciola. She 
had been a noted painter, and though she was 
now blind and ninety-one years old, Vandyck was 
accustomed to say that he learned more of the 
principles of art from her than from the works of 
the most celebrated masters. Vandyck visited 
Palermo, Turin, Florence, and other cities, but 
spent most of his time in Genoa until 1626, when 
he returned to Antwerp. 

It was some time before the artist met with any 
success at home which at all compared with that 
he had achieved in Italy. In 1628, he received an 
order for a picture of " St. Augustine in Ecstasy," 
for the Church of the Augustines in Antwerp. He 
painted the saint in light vestments, and the 
brotherhood insisted that they should be changed 
to black. This so interfered with the distribution 
of the light that the whole effect of the picture 
was spoiled. 

Again he was employed to paint a picture for 
the church at Courtrai. It is said that the canons 
insisted upon seeing the work before it was raised 
to its place ; and, not being able to judge of what it 
would be when hung, they were not pleased with 
it. They called Vandyck a "dauber," and left him. 
After a time they found that they had made a 
mistake, and asked Vandyck to paint two other 
pictures for them, but he replied: "There are 
already daubers enough in Courtrai without sum- 
moning those of Antwerp," and took no further 
notice of them. This story, however interesting, 
does not accord with the fact that one of his finest 
works is the "Elevation of the Cross," still in the 
Church of Notre Dame at Courtrai. It has been 
called " one of the most admirable masterpieces 
that the art of painting has ever produced." 

During the five years that Vandyck remained in 
Flanders and Holland, he painted almost number- 
less portraits of royal and distinguished persons, 
and more than thirty religious pictures for churches 
and public places in the Low Countries. The 
value of many of these works is now almost 
fabulous. I must tell you one anecdote of this 
time : On one occasion Vandyck was at Haarlem, 



Vol. X.— 33. 




the home of Franz Hals, a noted Dutch portrait- 
painter. Vandyck went to his studio, but, as usual, 
Hals was at the tavern. Vandyck sent for him, 
saying that a stranger wished his portrait painted, 
and had but two hours to stay for it. Hals seized 
a canvas and finished the picture within the 
given time. Vandyck 
praised it warmly, and 
said: "Painting seems 
such a simple thing that 
I should like to try what 
I can do at it." Hals 
changed places with him, 
and the visitor painted 
the second portrait as 
quickly as the first had 
been made. When Hals 
saw the picture, he em- 
braced the painter -and 
cried: "You are Van- 
dyck ! No other could 
do what you have now 
done ! " 

In 1632, after many 
preliminaries, Vandyck 
was called to the service 
of Charles I. of England. 
He was welcomed by the 
King, who appointed him 
court-painter, with a sal- 
ary of ,£200 a year, and 
three months after his 
arrival in London con- 
ferred on him the honor 
of knighthood. From 
the day he reached Eng- 
land, Vandyck was the 
fashion there. His ele- 
gant and courtly man- 
ners, and his style of 
living when in Rome, 
had gained for him the 

title of "// pit/ore Cavalicresco" (the noble or 
generous painter), and now, in England, he in- 
dulged in lavish hospitality. He often entertained 
his sitters at dinner, in order to study their expres- 
sion, and even the King visited his house without 
ceremony. He was liberal to musicians and men 
of genius, and made himself popular with many 
classes. As the result of all this, his studio became 
the resort of men of rank, and, in fact, a visit to 
Vandyck was, of all things, most desirable to the 
fashionables of the day, and men and women of 
rank and influence vied with each other for the 
privilege of being his sitters, until a list of the por- 
traits which he painted is an endless repetition of 
titles and notable names. 

His lavishness threw him into debt, and he was 
constantly in need of money, while his habits of 
life undermined his health and made him very low 
in his spirits. It is said that, with the hope of in- 
creasing his fortune, he spent much time over 
chemicals trying to discover the philosopher's 


stone, which he believed would bring him limitless 
gold. The poisonous gases which he thus inhaled 
injured his already weakened health, and the King 
and his friends became alarmed lest he should die. 

At length, the King resolved to persuade Van- 
dyck to marry, and selected a beautiful Scotch girl, 
who had a position in the household of the Queen, 
as a suitable wife for him. Her name was Maria 
Ruthven, and she was a granddaughter of the Earl 
of Gowrie. Very little is known of the married 
life of the artist, but there is nothing to indicate 
that it was not a happy one. He had one child, a 
daughter, called Justiniana. 

It is probable that Vandyck had frequently 
visited Antwerp while living in England. We 



know that, in 1634, he was chosen Dean of the Con- 
fraternity of St. Luke in his native city, and a great 
feast was celebrated on that occasion ; and when, 
in 1640, he took his bride there, the members of 
the Academy of Painting and many others received 
them with distinguished attentions. 

In spite of all he had done, Vandyck's highest 
ambition as a painter had never been satisfied. 
He had long cherished a desire to do some great 
historical painting. At one time he had hoped to 
decorate the walls of the banqueting-hall at the 
palace of Whitehall. The ceiling had splendid 
pictures by Rubens, and Vandyck proposed to 
perfect the whole by portraying the history of the 
Order of the Garter beneath the work of his mas- 
ter. Charles was pleased with the idea, and asked 
Vandyck to make his sketches; but he finally 
abandoned the scheme, much to the regret of the 

While he was at Antwerp with his wife, the 
painter learned that Louis XIII. was about to deco- 
rate the large saloon of the Louvre. He hastened 
to Paris in the hope that he might obtain the com- 
mission for the work, but when he arrived it had 
already been given to Poussin. Greatly disap- 
pointed, he returned to England, to find the royal 
family, whom he knew and loved so well, over- 
whelmed with misfortune. In March, 1641, the 
Queen fled to France, while the King and his sons 
took refuge at York. In May the Earl of Strafford 
was executed, and all these disasters, added to his 
previous disappointments and the fact that the arts 
which the King had cherished were already fallen 
into dishonor, brought upon the artist a disease 
which proved to be fatal. 

He continued to paint until within a few days of 
his death, and it was but eight days before that 
event that his daughter was born and he made his 
will. When the King returned to London, in spite 
of all his own troubles and cares, he found time to 
be true to his friendship for Vandyck. He offered 
his physician .£300 if he could save the artist's life ; 
but nothing could be done, and he died at his 
home in Blackfriars, December 9, 1641, at the 
early age of forty-two years. It is said that his 
funeral was attended by many nobles and artists. 
He was buried in the Cathedral of St. Paul's, near 
the tomb of John of Gaunt. When St. Paul's was 
burned, the remains of Vandyck were probably- 
scattered. When the grave of Benjamin West was 
prepared in the crypts of the new St. Paul's, Van- 
dyck's coffin-plate was discovered there. 

The pictures of Vandyck are so numerous that 
we can here say almost nothing of them. They 
embrace a great variety of subjects, and are found 
in nearly all large or good collections. He left 

some etchings, also, which are executed with great 
spirit. I have said that as a portrait-painter he is 
almost unrivaled; as a painter of other subjects he 
had also great merits. He had not the power of 
invention of his master, Rubens, and could not 
seize upon terrible moments and important inci- 
dents to give them the power which the pictures 
of Rubens had ; but Vandyck gave an intensity of 
expression to his faces, and an elevation to their 
emotions, which excelled his master. His drawing 
was more correct, and his feeling for Nature 
more refined, so that, taken all in all, perhaps 
the master and pupil were very nearly equal as 
painters, though they differed in the qualities of 
their talents. 

Vandyck may be said to have painted in three 
manners. The first was that of a rich and mellow 
color, which he acquired after visiting Italy to 
study the works of Titian and others. Sir Joshua 
Reynolds said of this style : "It supposes the sun 
in the room." The second manner is seen in the 
silvery color of his English pictures ; they are 
brilliant and delicate at the same time that they 
are solid and firm in their execution. His third 
manner is that of his latest works, when poor 
health and low spirits caused him to be careless 
and to give but little attention to their sentiment 
or execution. 

Among his most distinguished portraits are 
those of Charles I. and his family. Perhaps the 
most pleasing of these is the picture of the three 
children of the King — a subject which Vandyck 
several times repeated. One of these is in the 
gallery of Turin, others at Dresden and Berlin, 
and a small one at the Louvre, in Paris. His 
equestrian portraits are noble works, and many of 
his full-length figures exist in various galleries. 
The most magnificent collection in any one place 
is that of Windsor Castle, in possession of the 
Queen. It consists of thirty-nine pictures, all but 
three being portraits of single figures or groups. 

The prices that are now paid for the works of 
Vandyck, on the rare occasions when they are 
sold, are enormous. A portrait of Anne Cavendish, 
Lady Rich, was sold at the San Donato sale, in 
Florence, in 1880, to Mr. Berners, for $30,000. In 
1876, a few of his etchings were sold in Brussels; 
and that from a portrait of the artist, both portrait 
and etching being his own work, brought about 

We have not space to speak here of the his- 
torical, mythological, and other pictures painted 
by Vandyck. Though they are not equal to his 
portraits, they are very interesting, and those of 
you who go to EuroDe will see many of them in 
the churches and galleries that you will visit. 








By R. Lattimore Alling. 

We were off for our summer vacation, Mike (my 
chum) and I. Mike took it rather quietly, but 
that is his way. People have different ways of 
talking ; his was through his eyes, and how much 
they could tell a fellow ! But / 'm not the mum 
kind, and I wanted to talk to everybody — 
wanted to ask them if they, too, were going away 
from the hot, dusty city, to stay three long, rest- 
ful, delicious weeks. 

Finally, as we came near our journey's end, and 
packed ourselves away in the old stage which was 
to land us at the lake-side, I felt that I must talk 
or explode. I tell you, being shut up in a dingy 
little office in a dingy little street of a dingy big 
city for eleven months of the year makes one ap- 
preciate some things ; so, when I sniffed the real 
country odors, and then caught sight of a pond 
through the trees, I gave Mike a rapturous shake ; 
but he made no reply except to rattle the fishing- 
tackle in his pockets. This was expressive, but 
rather dull for steady conversation ; so, in despera- 
tion, I began to scan my fellow-passengers, in hopes 
of finding somebody else who wanted to talk. There 
was a tall, good-natured man, his wife, big girl, 
little girl, poodle, and baby, and a jolly-look- 
ing boy, who sat cocking his eye at me in such 
a remarkably funny way that I laughed, which 
laugh seemed to act on him like an inspiration, 
for he immediately broke the silence by inquiring 
in a rapid voice : 

"Where you going ? We 're going to the Lake 
View House — tip-top place — ever been? Splen- 
did fishing — was there last summer — lots of fun. " 

I informed him that I was going there also, and 
then followed a spirited discussion as to the rela- 
tive merits of grasshoppers or angle-worms for 
bait. As my # experience with either was limited, 
this subject soon dropped, when he inquired. 
"Are n't any of your folks going to be there?" 
possibly envying me freedom from the sisterhood. 

"None of my folks," I replied, "but my chum, 
my best friend ; we 're going to have fine times to- 
gether. You 'd like him ; he 's a capital fellow — 
when he is in the mood," I said, laughing, as I 
noticed him sitting silent and stiff beside me. 
"You must come up to our room some day," I 
added, as the stage stopped before our hotel. 

I saw nothing of my new acquaintance for a day 
or two, and Mike, who had come out of his dumps, 
was such good company that I forgot all about the 
boy till, one afternoon, he came rushing down the 

hall after me as I was returning to our room from 
a long tramp. 

"Halloo! Where you been — fishing?" he 
asked, breathlessly. 

" Yes," I answered. 

" Catch anything ? " 

" Of course." 

" Where 's your chum ?" 

"Mike? Oh, he is upstairs; he doesn't like 
fishing. Come and see him. He will be in a gay 
humor when I show what I have. We will have a 
festive time. Come up ? " 

" Yes, guess I will. I 'm sick of things here, 

This was no uncommon boy. He was just like 
a thousand others — a rough-and-tumble sort of 
chap, but good-hearted, and ready to learn good 
or bad, just whichever happened to come his 
way. As I listened to his bright talk of his 
thrilling adventure with a pickerel, I congratu- 
lated myself that he would be quite an addition to 
my pleasure, for Mike, as I have intimated, was a 
queer one, not fond of the active part of fishing 
or hunting ; but he did ample justice to the spoils, 
as I assured Bob — which I found to be the boy's 
name — when he made some damaging remark 
about my friend, to the effect that "Mike couldn't 
be much of a fellow if he didn't fish." So I had to 
plead his cause as we ascended the last flight of 
stairs, declaring that he made up for this masculine 
deficiency by the host of things he knew. " Why," 
I said, "he is the most interesting company in the 
world; he tells the most wonderful stories, — more 
marvelous than the Arabian Nights, or Jules 
Verne, and all true, too, and he will keep at it as 
long as you have a mind to sit up of an evening." 
The look of disdain over Mike's deplorable lack of 
interest in those sports dear to the heart of every 
well-regulated boy had changed to one of lively 
interest when I promised, as I turned the key of 
134 and flung open the door, to "set Mike a-going 
for his benefit." Mike was not visible, and while I 
disposed of my fishing apparatus, Bob surveyed 
the empty room with disappointment. 

" Where is he ? Trot him out." he demanded. 

" Oh, I keep him locked up in a closet when I 
am gone out," I replied, stooping to draw off my 
muddy boots, and at the same time hide my 
amused face from the perplexed Bob. who ex- 
claimed, "Gracious! you don't, do you?" Think- 
ing the climax of his bewilderment was reached, I 




proceeded to unlock the door of a black-walnut 
box standing on the floor, and drew out and set 
upon the table a microscope, announcing, as I 
waved my hand toward it, "Behold my friend, 
my chum, my blessed old Mike ! " 

Bob's face was a circus in itself. Many expres- 
sions struggled for the field, but disgusted disap- 
pointment gained the day, and he muttered, as he 
picked up his hat and started for the door, " Who 
wants to see your old telescope ! " 

" Hold on ! " I cried — " stay five minutes ; then 
you can go back to the girls and abuse me and 
my friend if you want to." 

So back he shuffled, but slowly, and with a look 
of determined suspicion at me. I went about my 
affairs, feeling sure he would change his tune 
when once Mike had a chance to defend himself. 
The "catch" of my fishing, which was all con- 
tained in a small glass bottle with a wide mouth, 
I began to investigate by holding it up toward 
the light. Seeing some very small specks float- 
ing about, I took a glass tube, about as big and 
as long as a new slate-pencil ; placing my finger 
closely over one end, I lowered the other directly 
over one of these specks, when, lifting my finger 
for an instant, out rushed some air, and at the 
other end up rushed some of the water, and with it 
the speck. This I allowed to run out upon a little 
slip of glass, called a slide, by lifting my finger 
again, when in rushed some air, and out went the 
drop of water. By this time Bob had lost his dis- 
gusted expression, and condescended to show slight 
interest in this new way of fishing. The slide, 
with the drop upon it, I then placed on the little 
shelf, or "stage," of my microscope. Looking 
through the long tube which is the main part of 
the instrument in size, touching a screw here, an- 
other there, and turning the little mirror, just 
under the stage, toward the light, I asked Bob to 
take a look also, at the same time remarking that 
I rather guessed I had beat him in fishing for that 
day. Bob squinted up one eye, peeped cau- 
tiously with the other, and forthwith exclaimed, 
" Jimminy Jinkins ! " Jimminy failing to appear 
upon the scene, I did, telling him, while he looked 
and wondered, wondered and looked, that all the 
little fellows he saw had names and histories, and 
cut up the funniest capers imaginable. 

But Bob interrupted with, " Oh ! here 's a huge 
one, and all tangled up in a great, long green 
stem, and kicking like mad ! What 's his name?" 
" That is a dapknia," I said, smiling at his 
enthusiasm; "and now look carefully, and you 
will see that you can look right through him. Do 
you see something beating inside of him — eh? 
Well, that is his heart, and you can sometimes see 
that every time it contracts some colorless fluid is 

pushed out through the body ; that is the blood 
circulating, and " 

But here Bob broke in with wild excitement, 
" True as preaching, he 's eating something, and I 
can see him swallowing it ! Oh. is n't this fun ! " 

I could not help laughing in my sleeve to see 
this boy so wholly absorbed by my "old telescope," 
and suggested that he take his eye from the tube 
for a moment, and with his own hands move the 
glass slide just a very little to one side, so as to get 
a view of another part of the vast sea contained in 
the drop of water. This being done, he again ap- 
plied his eye to the "bung-hole," as he elegantly 
termed it, when I asked him what he saw now. 

" Oh ! an awfully funny thing, kind of like a 
worm, with ever so many branches at one end — 
no, it 's like a long hand with long, crooked fin- 
gers, only there are eight of them — and — oh, 
they are all stretched out and feeling around ! " 

"Yes," I assented, knowing well the animal at 
which he was looking. " Now, give the glass slide 
a little tap with your finger-nail, but keep looking 
just the same." The result of this experiment 
made him jump, as he exclaimed: "He jerked 
all his fingers in quicker 'n lightning, and now he 
is all drawn up into a little ball ! " 

As I enjoyed his excitement, I explained that 
the fingers were called tentacles, and that they 
were used to feel about for food, and that some 
naturalists thought that at the end of each tentacle 
was a little sting, with which they killed their 
prey, and then drew it into their mouth, which was 
a little opening in the end of the tube from which 
these tentacles grew. 

"But what 's the gentleman's name?" de- 
manded Bob, wishing to know everything at once. 

"Well," I answered, "do you know about the 
twelve things that Hercules had to do before he 
could become immortal? " 

Bob looked as though he had known from earliest 
infancy, but as I myself remembered that my wisest 
looks had too often been in direct proportion to 
my ignorance, I thought it best to tell the story. 

" Somehow, it happened that Hercules got 
cheated out of the throne which he was to in- 
herit; so his father, Jupiter, made Juno prom- 
ise that she would make Hercules immortal if he 
accomplished twelve great deeds. One of them 
was the killing of the Hydra, a monster ivith nine 
heads. Hercules went bravely to work chopping 
these off, but even- severed head w-as immediately 
replaced by two. So this little animal is called the 
hydra, and if we try to slay it we shall be as much 
amazed as was Hercules ; for, if we cut off one 
of these tentacles, another will grow in its place. 
And more than this : the piece that is cut off 
lives on, and, in time, will grow its own circle of 

i88 3 .] 



tentacles and be a full-fledged hydra, independent 
of everybody ! Why, just to think, there was a 
Frenchman who, aided by his microscope, could 
do very delicate work, and he turned some hydras 
wrong-side out, and they did n't seem to mind it 
at all, but meekly accommodated themselves to the 
situation, and went on fishing as happily as before, 
making what was before their outsides do for 
their stomachs ! It is almost impossible to kill 
them, for, even if you chop them up into little 
pieces, each piece will grow into an animal like 
the one from which it was cut, and set up house- 
keeping on its own account. So, you see, out of 
one hydra you can make a large community." 

" Let 's do it now," said the eager Bob, with 
eyes big with wonder. 

"Oh, no," I said. " It takes some days for all 
this to happen, and remember that you can hardly 
see the hydra with your naked eye. And it requires 
some skill to do this microscopic butchering." 

This seemed a new idea, and he examined my 
small water-jar with renewed interest, asking, 
" Are there more of these fellows in here? " 

"Perhaps not one," I answered. "Sometimes 
I can't find one for weeks, and then all at once 
I may come across a pond with thousands ; but 
even then you have to know just how to find 
them. The best way is to dip up some water 
from the bottom or side of a stagnant pool — 
taking bits of the little water-plants, or of the green 

scum (which will turn out to be delicate stems, 
with lovely patterns in' green dots running along 
them), with it. Set the bottle in the window for 
a day or two, and you will find the hydras, if there 
are any there, fastened to the glass next the light." 

As the gong for tea sounded, I said, as I began 
to put things away, while Bob took a last peep, 
" Well, Mike is n't so bad, is he ? Come up again, 
if you like him. We have only made a beginning 
as yet on what is to be seen in that water. By the 
way, Simple Simon was n't such a fool, after all, if 
he had a microscope, — eh Bob ? " 

"What do you mean?" said Bob, trying his 
luck at fishing with a glass tube, as if for once 
supper had failed to charm. 

"Why, don't you remember — 

'Simple Simon went a-fishing for to catch a whale, 

And all the water that he had was in his mother's pail'?" 

By this time Mike had been put into his box, 
and Bob remarked, as we went down-stairs, 
"He 's the best old chap I 've seen yet ! " 

As I glanced across the long dining-hall, I was 
convulsed to see Bob, who was at the next table, 
suddenly stop a glass of water half-way toward 
his lips, and gaze into it with horror. The next 
moment he dashed over to me, shouting: "Say! 
Is this water full of 'em ? " I assured him that he 
could drink it with entire safety, there being 
nothing of the kind in ordinary water, as Mike 
could further prove next time he gave a show. 


— Bakir.g-Day. 




By Malcolm Douglas. 

A LITTLE man, in walking down the dusty road one day, 
Met a little woman traveling afoot the other way; 
And, laying down his big valise, he bowed in handsome style, 
While she returned his greeting with a curtsey and a smile. 

"Can you inform me • where, 

ma'am, I can find a wife ? " 

said he. 
" 'T was on my tongue to ask 

about a husband, sir," said 


"I'm weary of my single state, 

and many miles I 've gone 
For one who '11 cook and wash 

for me, and sew my buttons 

on ; 
Who '11 wait on me when I am 

well and tend me when I 'm 

And never give me cause to 

grumble at a foolish bill. 
Do you know any one, ma'am, 

you can recommend?" said 

"I 'm looking for precisely such 

a husband, sir," said she. 

i88 3 .] 


He puckered up his lips- and whistled thoughtfully and low, — 
Then slowly reached for his valise, regretfully to go ; 
While, with a pensive little smile, she gazed up at the sky 
And watched the fleecy cloudlets as they lazily passed by. 

'' 'T is plain I 'm not the husband you 're after, ma'am ! " said he. 

■ 'T is evident I 'm not the wife you 're seeking, sir ! " said she. 

By Lucretia P. Hale. 

The expedition up the Nile had taken place suc- 
cessfully. The Peterkin family had reached Cairo 
again — at least, its scattered remnant was there, 
and they were now to consider what next. 

Mrs. Peterkin would like to spend her life in the 
dahabieh,* though she could not pronounce its 
name, and she still felt the strangeness of the 
scenes about her. However, she had only to look 
out upon the mud villages on the bank to see that 
she was in the veritable "Africa" she had seen 
pictured in the geography of her childhood. If 
further corroboration were required, had she not, 
only the day before, when accompanied by no one 
but a little donkey-boy, shuddered to meet a 
strange Nubian, attired principally in hair that 
stood out from his savage face in frizzes at least 
half a yard long. 

But oh, the comforts of no trouble in housekeep- 
ing on board the dahabieh ! Never to know what 
they were to have for dinner, nor to be asked what 
they would like, and yet always to have a dinner 
you could ask chance friends to, knowing all would 
be perfectly served ! Some of the party with whom 
they had engaged their dahabieh. had even brought 
canned baked beans from New England, which 
seemed to make their happiness complete. 

" Though we see beans here," said Mrs. Peter- 
kin, " they are not ' Boston beans ' ! " 

She had fancied she would have to live on stuffed 
ostrich (ostrich stuffed with iron filings, that the 
books tell of), or fried hippopotamus, or boiled 
rhinoceros. But she met with none of these, and 
day after day was rejoiced to find her native tur- 
key appearing on the table, with pigeons and 

A boat used for transportation on the Nile. 

5 2 '- 



chickens (though the chickens, to be sure, were 
scarcely larger than the pigeons), and lamb that 
was really not more tough than that of New 
Hampshire and the White Mountains. 

If they dined with the Arabs, there was indeed a 
kind of dark molasses-gingerbread-looking cake, 
with curds in it, that she found it hard to eat. 
" But they like it," she said, complacently. 

The remaining little boy, too, smiled over his 
pile of ripe bananas, as he thought of the quarter- 
of-a-dollar-a-half-dozen green ones at that moment 
waiting at the corners of the streets at home. In- 
deed, it was a land for boys. There were the dates, 
both fresh and dried — far more juicy than those 
learned at school ; and there was the gingerbread- 
nut tree, the dom palm, that bore a nut tasting 
" like baker's gingerbread that has been kept 
a few days in the shop," as the remaining little 
boy remarked. And he wished for his brothers 
when the live dinner came on board their boat, 
at the stopping-places, in the form of good-sized 
sheep struggling on the shoulders of stout Arabs, 
or an armful of live hens and pigeons. 

All the family (or as much of it as was present) 
agreed with Mrs. Peterkin's views. Amanda at 
home had seemed quite a blessing, but at this dis- 
tance her services, compared with the attentions 
of their Maltese dragoman and the devotion of 
their Arab servants, seemed of doubtful value, and 
even Mrs. Peterkin dreaded returning to her tender 

"Just imagine inviting the Russian Count to 
dinner at home — and Amanda ! " exclaimed Eliza- 
beth Eliza. 

" And he came to dinner at least three times a 
week on board the boat," said the remaining little 

"The Arabs are so convenient about carrying 
one's umbrellas and shawls," said Elizabeth Eliza. 
" How I should miss Hassan in picking up my blue 
veil ! " 

The family recalled many anecdotes of the short- 
comings of Amanda, as Mrs. Peterkin leaned back 
upon her divan and wafted a fly-whisk. Mr. 
Peterkin had expended large sums in telegrams 
from every point where he found the telegraph in 
operation ; but there was no reply from Solomon 
John, and none from the two little boys. 

By a succession of telegrams, they had learned 
that no one had fallen into the crater of Vesuvius 
in the course of the last six months, not even a 
little boy. This was consoling. 

By letters from the lady from Philadelphia, they 
learned that she had received Solomon John's 
telegram from Geneva at the time she heard from 
the rest of the family, and one signed " L. Boys" 
from Naples. But neither of these telegrams gave 

an address for return answers, which she had, 
however, sent to Geneva and Naples, with the fatal 
omission by the operator (as she afterward learned) 
of the date, as in the other telegrams. 

Mrs. Peterkin, therefore, disliked to be long 
away from the Sphinx, and their excursion up the 
Nile had been shortened on this account. All the 
Nubian guides near the pyramids had been fur- 
nished with additional backsheesh and elaborate 
explanations from Mr. Peterkin as to how they 
should send him information if Solomon John and 
the little boys should turn up at the Sphinx — for 
all the family agreed they would probably appear 
in Egypt together. 

Mrs. Peterkin regretted not having any photo- 
graphs to leave with the guides ; but Elizabeth 
Eliza, alas ! had lost at Brindisi the hand-bag 
that contained the family photograph-book. 

Mrs. Peterkin would have liked to take up her 
residence near the Sphinx for the rest of the year. 
But every one warned her that the heat of an 
Egyptian summer would not allow her to stay 
at Cairo — scarcely even on the sea-shore, at 

How thankful was Mrs. Peterkin, a few months 
after, when the war in Egypt broke out, that 
her wishes had not been yielded to ! For many 
nights she could not sleep, picturing how they all 
might have been massacred by the terrible mob 
in Alexandria. 

Intelligence of Solomon John led them to take 
their departure. 

One day, they were discussing at the table 
d'hote their letters from the lady from Philadel- 
phia, and how they showed that Solomon John 
had been at Geneva. 

"Ah, there was his mistake!" said Elizabeth 
Eliza. "The Doolittles left Marseilles with us, and 
were to branch off for Geneva, and we kept on to 
Genoa, and Solomon John was always mistaking 
Genoa for Geneva, as we planned our route. I 
remember there was a great confusion when they 
got off." 

"I always mix u"p Geneva and Genoa," said 
Mrs. Peterkin. "I feel as if they were the same." 

"They are quite different," said Elizabeth Eliza; 
"and Genoa lay in our route, while Geneva took 
him into Switzerland." 

An English gentleman, on the opposite side of 
the table, then spoke to Mr. Peterkin. 

" I beg pardon," he said. " I think I met one 
of your name in Athens. He attracted our atten- 
tion because he went every day to the same spot, 
and he told us he expected to meet his family 
there — that he had an appointment by tele- 
graph " 

"In Athens! " exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. 



"Was his name Solomon John?" asked Eliza- 
beth Eliza. 

"Were there two little boys?" inquired Mrs. 

"His initials were the same as mine," replied 
the Englishman, — " S. J. P., — for some of his 
luggage came by mistake into my room, and that 
is why I spoke of it. " 

"Is there a Sphinx in Athens?" Mrs. Peterkin 

"There used to be one there," said Agamem- 

"I beg your pardon," said the Englishman, 
" but that Sphinx never was in Athens." 

"But Solomon John may have made the mis- 
take — we all make our mistakes," said Mrs. Pe- 
terkin, tying her bonnet-strings, as if ready to go 
to meet Solomon John at that moment. 

"The Sphinx was at Thebes in the days of 
CEdipus," said the Englishman. "No one would 
expect to find it anywhere in Greece at the present 

"But was Solomon John inquiring for it?" 
asked Mr. Peterkin. 

"Indeed, no ! " answered the Englishman ; "he 
went every day to the Pnyx, a famous hill in 
Athens, where his telegram had warned him he 
should meet his friends." 

"The Pnyx!" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin; "and 
how do you spell it?" 

"P-n-y-x!" cried Agamemnon — "the same 
letters as in Sphinx ! " 

"All but the 's' and the 'h' and the 'y,'" 
said Elizabeth Eliza. 

"I often spell Sphinx with a 'y' myself," said 
Mr. Peterkin. 

"And a telegraph-operator makes such mis- 
takes ! " said Agamemnon. 

"His telegram had been forwarded to him from 
Switzerland," said the Englishman; "it had fol- 
lowed him into the Dolomite region, and must 
have been translated many times." 

"And of course they could not all have been 
expected to keep the letters in the right order," 
said Elizabeth Eliza. 

"And were there two little boys with him?" re- 
peated Mrs. Peterkin. 

No ; there were no little boys. But further in- 
quiries satisfied the family that Solomon John 
must be awaiting them in Athens. And how nat- 
ural the mistake ! Mrs. Peterkin said that, if she 
had known of a Pnyx, she should surely have 
looked for the family there. 

Should they then meet Solomon John at the 
Pnyx, or summon him to Egypt? It seemed safer 
to go directly to Athens, especially as Mr. Peterkin 
and Agamemnon were anxious to visit that city. 

It was found that a steamer would leave Alex- 
andria next day for Athens, by way of Smyrna and 
Constantinople. This was a roundabout course, but 
Mr. Peterkin was impatient to leave, and was glad 
to gain more acquaintance with the world. Mean- 
while, they could telegraph their plans to Solomon 
John, as the English gentleman could give them the 
address of his hotel. 

And Mrs. Peterkin did not now shrink from 
another voyage. Her experience on the Nile had 
made her forget her sufferings in crossing the At- 
lantic, and she no longer dreaded entering another 
steam-boat. Their delight in river navigation, in- 
deed, had been so great that the whole family had 
listened with interest to the descriptions given by 
their Russian fellow-traveler of steam-boat naviga- 
tion on the Volga — "the most beautiful river in 
the world," as he declared. Elizabeth Eliza and 
Mr. Peterkin were eager to try it, and Agamemnon 
remarked that such a trip would give them an 
opportunity to visit the renowned fair at Nijni- 
novgorod. Even Mrs. Peterkin had consented to 
this expedition, provided they should meet Solo- 
mon John and the other little boys. 

She started, therefore, on a fresh voyage without 
any dread, forgetting that the Mediterranean, if 
not so wide as the Atlantic, is still a sea, and often 
as tempestuous and uncomfortably "choppy." 
Alas ! she was soon to be awakened from her for- 
getfulness : the sea was the same old enemy. 

As they passed up among the Ionian Isles, and 
she heard Agamemnon and Elizabeth Eliza and 
their Russian friend (who was accompanying 
them to Constantinople) talking of the old gods of 
Greece, she fancied that they were living still, and 
that Neptune and the classic waves were wreak- 
ing their vengeance on them, and pounding and 
punishing them for venturing to rule them with 
steam. She was fairly terrified. As they entered 
Smyrna she declared she would never enter any 
kind of a boat again, and that Mr. Peterkin must 
find some way by which they could reach home 
by land. 

How delightful it was to draw near the shore, 
on a calm afternoon — even to trust herself to the 
charge of the boatmen in leaving the ship, and to 
reach land once more and meet the tumult of 
voices and people ! Here was the screaming and 
shouting usual in the East, and the same bright 
array of turbans and costumes in the crowd 
awaiting them. But a well-known voice reached 
them, and from the crowd rose a well-known face. 
Even before they reached the land they had recog- 
nized its owner. With his American dress, he 
looked almost foreign in contrast to the otherwise 
universal Eastern color. A tall figure on either 
side seemed, also, each to have a familiar air. 




Were there three Solomon Johns ? 

No ; it was Solomon John and the two other 
little boys — but grown so that they were no longer 
little boys. Even Mrs. Peterkin was unable to 
recognize them at first. But the tones of their 
voices, their ways, were as natural as ever. Each 
had a banana in his hand, and pockets stuffed 
with oranges. 

Questions and answers interrupted each other in 
a most confusing manner : 

"Are you the little boys? " 

" Where have you been ? " 

" Did you go to Vesuvius ? " 

" How did you get away ? " 

" Why did n't you come sooner ? " 

" Our India-rubber boots stuck in the hot lava." 

" Have you been there all this time ? " 

" No ; we left them there." 

" Have you had fresh dates ? " 

" They are all gone now, but the dried ones are 
better than those squeezed ones we have at home." 

" How you have grown ! " 

" Why did n't you telegraph ? " 

"Why did you go to Vesuvius, when Papa 
said he could n't ? " 

" Did you, too, think it was Pnyx? " 

"Where have you been all winter?" 

" Did you roast eggs in the crater? " 

" When did you begin to grow ? " 

The little boys could not yet thoroughly explain 
themselves ; they always talked together, and in 
foreign languages, interrupting each other, and 
never agreeing as to dates. 

Solomon John accounted for his appearance in 
Smyrna by explaining that, when he received his 
father's telegram in Athens, he decided to meet 
them at Smyrna. He was tired of waiting at the 
Pnyx. He had but just landed, and came near 
missing his family, and the little boys too, who 
had reached Athens just as he was leaving it. 
None of the family wished now to continue their 
journey to Athens, but they had the advice and 
assistance of their Russian friend in planning to 
leave the steamer at Constantinople ; they would, 
by adopting this plan, be en route for the proposed 
excursion to the Volga. 

Mrs. Peterkin was overwhelmed with joy at hav- 
ing all her family together once more ; but with 
it a wave of home-sickness surged over her. They 
were all together ; why not go home ? 

It was found that there was a sailing-vessel 
bound absolutely for Maine, in which they might 
take passage. No more separation ; no more mis- 
takes ; no more tedious study of guide-books ; no 
more weighing of baggage. Every trunk and bag, 
every Peterkin, could be placed in the boat, and 
safely landed on the shores of home. It was a 

temptation, and at one time Mrs. Peterkin actually 
pleaded for it. 

But there came a throbbing in her head, a swim- 
ming in her eyes, a swaying of the very floor of 
the hotel. Could she bear it, day after day, week 
after week ? Would any of them be alive ? And 
Constantinople not seen, nor steam-navigation on 
the Volga ! 

And so new plans arose, and wonderful discov- 
eries were made, and the future of the Peterkin 
family was changed forever. 

In the first place, a strange, stout gentleman 
in spectacles had followed the Peterkin family to 
the hotel, had joined in the family councils, and 
had rendered valuable service in negotiating with 
the officers of the steamer for the cancellation of 
their through tickets to Athens. He dined at the 
same table, and was consulted by the (formerly) 
Little boys. 

Who was he? 

They explained that he was their "preceptor." 
It appeared that, after they parted from their 
father, the little boys had become mixed up with 
some pupils who were being taken by their precep- 
tor to Vesuvius. For some time he had not noticed 
that his party (consisting of boys of their own 
age) had been enlarged ; and after finding this 
out, he had concluded they were the sons of 
an English family with whom he had been cor- 
responding. He was surprised that no further 
intelligence came with them, and no extra bag- 
gage. They had, however, their hand-bags ; and 
after sending their telegram to the lady from Phil- 
adelphia, they assured him that all would be 
right. But they were obliged to leave Naples 
the very day of dispatching the telegram, and 
left no address to which an answer could be sent. 
The preceptor took them, with his pupils, directly 
.back to his institution in Gratz, Austria, from 
which he had taken them on this little excursion. 

It was not till the end of the winter that he dis- 
covered that his youthful charges — whom he had 
been faithfully instructing, and who had found the 
gymnasium and invigorating atmosphere so favor- 
able to growth — were not the sons of his English 
correspondent, whom he had supposed, from their 
explanations, to be traveling in America. 

He was, however, intending to take his pupils to 
Athens in the spring, and by this time the little 
boys were able to explain themselves better in 
his native language. They assured him they 
should meet their family in the East, and the pre- 
ceptor felt it safe to take them upon the track 

It was now that Mr. Peterkin prided himself 
upon the plan he had insisted upon before leaving 
home. "Was it not well," he exclaimed, "that 



I provided each of you with a bag of gold, for use 
in case of emergency, hidden in the lining of your 
hand-bags ? " 

This had worked badly for Elizabeth Eliza, to be 
sure, who had left hers at Brindisi ; but the little 
boys had been able to pay some of their ex- 
penses, which encouraged the preceptor to believe 
he might trust them for the rest. So much 
pleased were all the family with the preceptor 
that they decided that all three of the little boys 
should continue under his instructions, and return 
with him to Gratz. 

This decision made more easy the other plans of 
the family. 

Both Agamemnon and Solomon John had de- 
cided they would like to be foreign consuls. They 
did not much care where, and they would accept 
any appointment, and both, it appeared, had writ- 
ten on the subject to the Department at Washing- 
ton. Agamemnon had put in a plea for a vacancy 
at Madagascar, and Solomon John hoped for an 
opening at Rustchuk, Turkey ; if not there, at 
Aiutab, Syria. Answers were expected, which 
were now telegraphed for, to meet them in Con- 

Meanwhile, Mr. Peterkin had been consulting 
the preceptor and the Russian Count about a land 
journey home. More and more Mrs. Peterkin 
determined she could not and would not trust 
herself to another voyage, though she consented 
to travel by steamer to Constantinople. If they 
went as far as Nijninovgorod, which was now 
decided upon, why could they not persevere 
through " Russia in Asia " ? 

Their Russian friend at first shook his head at 
this, but at last agreed that it might be possible 
to go on from Novgorod comfortably to Tobolsk, 
perhaps even from there to Yakoutsk, and then to 

"And cross at Behrings' Straits ! " exclaimed 
Mrs. Peterkin. " It looks so narrow on the map." 

" And then we are in Alaska," said Mr. Peter- 

''And at home," exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, 
" and no more voyages." 

But Elizabeth Eliza doubted about Kamschatka 
and Behrings' Straits, and thought it would be very 

"But we can buy furs on our way," insisted 
Mrs. Peterkin. 

" And if you do not find the journey agreeable," 

said their Russian friend, "you can turn back 
from Yakoutsk, even from Tobolsk, and come to 
visit us." 

Yes — us ! 

For Elizabeth Eliza was to marry the Russian 
Count ! 

He had been in a boat that was behind them 
on the Nile, had met them often, had climbed the 
ruins with them, joined their excursions, and had 
finally proposed at Edfu. 

Elizabeth Eliza had then just written to consult 
the lady from Philadelphia with regard to the 
offer of a German professor they had met, and she 
could give no reply to the Count. 

Now, however, it was necessary to make a de- 
cision. She had meanwhile learned a few words 
of Russian. The Count spoke English moderately 
well, made himself understood better than the 
Professor, and could understand Elizabeth Eliza's 
French. Also, the Count knew how to decide 
questions readily, while the Professor had to con- 
sider both sides before he could make up his mind. 

Mrs. Peterkin objected strongly at first. She 
could not even pronounce the Russian's name. 
" How should she be able to speak to him, or tell 
anybody whom Elizabeth Eliza had married?" 
But finally the family all gave their consent, won 
by the attention and devotion of Elizabeth Eliza's 
last admirer. 

The marriage took place in Constantinople — not 
at Santa Sophia, as Elizabeth Eliza would have 
wished, as that was under a Mohammedan dis- 
pensation. A number of American residents were 
present, and the preceptor sent for his other pupils 
in Athens. Elizabeth Eliza wished there was time 
to invite the lady from Philadelphia to be present, 
and Ann Maria Bromwich. ^Yould the name be 
spelled right in the newspapers ? All that could 
be done was to spell it by telegraph as accurately 
as possible, as far as they themselves knew how, 
and then leave the papers to do their best (or their 
worst) in their announcements of the wedding 
" at the American Consulate, Constantinople, 
Turkey. No cards." 

The last that was ever heard of the Peterkins, 
Agamemnon was on his way to Madagascar, 
Solomon John was at Rustchuk, and the little boys 
at Gratz; Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin, in a comfortable 
sledge, were on their way from Tobolsk to Ya- 
koutsk ; and Elizabeth Eliza was passing her honey- 
moon in the neighborhood of Moscow. 




A \vV- N ''.!''/" 





Many of the readers of St. Nicholas will re- 
member an article on "Curious Nests," which 
was printed in the number for November, 1S80. 
Of the nests described, some were remarkable for 
the situations in which they had been built — such 
as "the nest in the scare-crow"; while others — 
like "the nest of lace" and "the nest suspended 
by a thread " — were peculiar in the way they 
were made or secured. Not the least curious 
thing about them, however, was the fact that in 
almost every instance there was a good and sensi- 
ble reason for the oddity. It is not always a mere 
whim that causes a pair of winged builders to 
violate the usual fashions of bird-architecture, or 
to select a site for their home that might well 
make respectable bird-society gossip and stare. 
No, indeed! However "queer" or eccentric the 
little couple may seem to their own kind, the girl 
or boy, or gentle wise man, who finds their deserted 
nest in the autumn, soon observes that the thing 
which made it peculiar, as birds' nests go, was the 
very thing that made it more safe or more com- 
fortable than birds' nests usually are. 

Since the publication of the article we have men- 
tioned, St. Nicholas has received a number of 
letters and communications telling of curious nests 
or doings of some common birds. And the most 
appropriate time for showing these to you is surely 
this very month of May, — when, in every tree 
and wayside hedge, and also in the city parks and 
arbors (for some of the most curious nests have 
been found in the city), you can yourselves ob- 
serve the little architects at their work, and see 
how clever and skillful they are. 

Here, to begin with, is an account by Dr. C. C. 
Abbot, of the cunning way in which a little bird 
rebuilt its nest in order to avoid hatching an in- 
truder's egg. When you have read it you will 
agree that our correspondent was right in calling 
the bird's plan 


"A pretty little fly-catcher, which had taken 
much pains to build her nest, was in trouble about 
her own pearly eggs, and through no fault of her 
own. An impudent cow-bird (Molothrus pecoris 
of naturalists), too lazy to make a nest for herself, 
or to look up an old one, or, indeed, to hatch her 
own eggs, had slyly dropped an egg in the fly- 
catcher's nest, and then gone off, quite indifferent 
as to what became of it. 

" What the first thoughts of the fly-catcher were 
when she saw the intrusive egg, I am at a loss to 

conjecture ; but the nest itself tells us that the 
bird was not easily outwitted, and also that the con- 
clusion it finally reached was, to get rid of the 
noxious egg, by making practically a new nest out 
of the old one. 

" Now, this fly-catcher, which ornithologists 
know as the white-eyed vireo ( Vireo noveboraccn- 
cis), builds a rather fragile, hanging nest, usually 
out of fine twigs and strips of thin bark, all nicely 
interlaced, but sometimes employing also large 
pieces of newspaper. The nest is suspended to the 
delicate twigs that grow on the very ends of long, 
wavy branches. To compensate, therefore, for the 
considerable motion to which it is subjected when 
the wind blows, the nest is made very deep, and 
quite small at the top. So deep is it, in fact, that 
usually we can not detect the sitting bird, unless 
the nest is looked upon from above. 

" In the instance of the nest here described, this 
great depth of the original structure came nicely 
into play ; for the outcome of the bird's thoughts 
was that to build a new floor to the nest, while it 
would necessitate leaving two of her own eggs un- 
hatched, would place the unwieldy egg of the 
interloper down in the basement also, and would 
thus leave her free to rear her own family, unmo- 
lested, on the second floor. This she cunningly 
accomplished by first placing a stout twig just 
above the eggs, and then interweaving suitable 
soft materials with the sides of the nest, allow- 
ing their weight to rest upon the twig extending 
from side to side and projecting beyond them. 
Just how this was arranged is shown by the out- 
line of the nest in the accompanying diagram. 

" Considering the fix the fly-catcher was in, and 
her determination not to nurse the foundling, cer- 
tainly this was an easy way out of it ; and not only 
easy, but ingenious, showing, as it does, an intel- 
ligence that would be 
little suspected by the 
unfortunate men and 
women (and girls and 
boys) who pass by, 
unheeded, the many 
wonders of bird-life 
that help to make this 
world so beautiful. 

"Another little bird 
that is much more fre- 
quently subjected to 
the annoyance of visits 
from the cow-bird, is our very common, pretty sum- 
mer warbler (Dendrccca eestiva). When this bird 
finds the strange egg in its nest, it covers up the egg 




(with any of its own that are alongside it) in a mass 
of materials like that of which the nest is made, and 
another set of eggs is laid upon this new flooring 
of the nest. Sometimes it happens that a second 
cow-bird's egg is laid on this new floor, and again 
the warbler has to cover it alse, that its own eggs 
may not be disturbed ; so that we have 
in such a case a three-storied struct 
ure. What patient, persistent 
birds, then, these little warb 
lers are ! 

" Considering that 
many of our birds vol- 
untarily perform so 
much unexpected 
labor to secure the 
welfare of their 
broods, let me 
ask of the young 
readers of St. 
Nicholas that 
in all cases they 
will examine the 
nests of birds 
without disturbing 
them, and col- 
lect them only 
after the birds 
need them no 
longer. Their struct- 
ure and materials 
can be studied as 
well then as before. 

" Let me add, in 
conclusion, that a 
task of much inter- 
est to ornithologists 
is to determine how- 
far the nests of our 
birds vary in con- 
struction, materials 
used, and localities 
chosen. While many 
of our birds build 
nests throughout vast 
areas of country, it is 
not certain, by any 
means, that their nest- 
ing habits are the 
same in Maine and in 
Maryland, at the Atlantic e- 3 " seaboard and 
on the Western prairies. I trust that the 

readers of St. Nicholas — and especially the 
members of the Agassiz Association — will largely 
study this subject, and subsequently compare 
notes, being very careful to correctly determine the 
species of birds that have built the nests found." 


Birds often foil larger enemies than their feath- 
ered foes by some cunning piece of strategy. The 
picture on page 530, for instance, illustrates an 
odd incident which really happened. A mother- 
bird, seeing the cat approaching, and fearing the 
loss of her brood, attracted the atten- 
tion of the stealthy animal by fly- 
ing down to the fence upon 
which the cat was crouched, 

^5C2Bte i i '""Nv anc ^ th en > by feigning a 
* = *5!- ^ broken wing and hop- 

ping along with 
plaintive chirps 
just in front of 
her enemy (but 
always just out 
of his reach), 
she succeed- 
ed in luring 
him to a safe 
distance . 
Then she 
took to flight, 
and by a cir- 
cuitous route 
returned to her 
nest. Bravely 
done, little mother ! 
And here, too, is an 
account, taken from a 
newspaper, of a pitched 
battle between some 
sparrows and a cat, in 
which the sturdy little winged 
warriors actually put Puss 
to rout : 
"At Pottsville, Pa., recently, a half- 
grown cat caught a young sparrow, 
and the latter chirped loudly, giving the 
alarm, and in a very few moments a 
- large number of the belligerent little 
birds were on the spot. They swooped 
down on pussy from every direction, and, 
although she arched her back, extended her 
and tried to give battle, she was overcome 
by numbers, and fled incontinently to the shelter 
of a coal-shed near at hand. This did not end 
the matter. In the course of a half-hour Puss 
made her entry on the scene again. But the birds 
seem to have put some of their number on picket- 
duty, for, as soon as the cat came from her shelter, 
the alarm was sounded and the feathered clans 
came afresh to the attack in greater force than 
ever. Their feline enemy, profiting by past expe- 
rience, did not wait to make a tight, but ran as 


5 2 9 

swiftly as she could to her home, half a square 
away, the sparrows striking her as long as she was 
in sight." 


The "nest suspended by a thread " is almost - _ 
matched by one built by a pair of Baltimore 
orioles in a tree opposite a tinsmith's. In ■ -a" 

the autumn, the limb to which the nest 
was suspended blew down, 
and the nest is now preserved 
as an evidence of the remark- 
able skill and instinct of these 
birds, for it was found 
securely fastened to the -,?,'. 
branch with pieces of 
wire, which they had 
picked out of the ■ p .': .■: 
sweepings of the tin- j>" 


Some of our most fa- 
miliar birds are quick to 
see and take advantage of the 
fact that the neighborhood of 
men's homes frequently offers 
them better protection or mate 
rial than the woods and field: 
afford ; and a search about th 
roofs of large buildings in th 
towns often discovers bird- 
homes in the most unexpected 
places. One correspondent 
sends us an account, from a 
local newspaper, of 


" The old clock in the 
tower of the First Presbyte- 
rian Church, Newark, has 
not been giving correct 
time lately. Charles Free- 
man, employed by the 
Common Council to reg- 
ulate the town clocks, 
was puzzled by the antics 
of the ancient time-piece, 
and when it came to , 

a stop recently, he ( ji 
decided to give it a 
thorough examina- - 
tion. In the wheels 
he found a tangled 
mass of hay, twine, 
grass, cotton, and feathers, amounting to nearly 
half a peck. A pair of birds had entered the tower 
Vol. X. — 34. 

through a hole in the dial, and attempted 
to build a nest in the machinery of the 
clock. The slow revolution of the 
wheels tore their work to pieces, and 
they kept on reconstructing it un- 
til they stopped the wheels." 


The American robin has been 
known to build on the trestle 
of a railroad bridge, 
^ !-.',. over a wide sheet of 
?.- ".', - water, on which trains 
. passed at least every 







•'The birds," 

writes Mr. 

Beard, "were 

blue martins. The horn, or trumpet, was 

used as a weather-cock upon the top of 

the fire-engine house in Covington. 

'^i^'flPj .^ Kentucky. The birds built there 

• ■- every year, flying in at both ends. 

The horn was about forty inches long, and the 

large end measured nearly twelve inches across." 






Beard adds that: "Very near to the fire- 
house in Covington was the county court- 
and on its cupola stood a wooden figure of 

George Washington. It was 
discovered one day that in the 
forehead of this, figure a wood- 
pecker had hored a hole for 
a nest ! " 


An artist friend sends a pen- 
and-ink sketch which he made 
of a gargoyle, or ornamental 
rain-spout, on the cloven tower 
of Heidelberg Castle, on the 
Rhine. Gargoyles, as perhaps 
you know, are very common 
in European architecture, and 
sometimes they are modeled 
after some portion of the 
human figure, and sometimes 
after parts of animals. This 
gargoyle, as you see in 
the picture, represented a 
lion's head. It was carved in 
stone, and partly overgrown 
with vines. Years ago some 
birds, tempted by the shelter 
of its great open mouth, built 
a nest there, which, my friend 
says, is mentioned by Mr. 
Longfellow in his " Hyperi- 
on," a prose book, in the chap- 
ter headed " Interlachen." 
When the artist wrote, the 
nest was still remaining ir the gargoyle's mouth. 
Perhaps some of our readers may be passing 
through Heidelberg this coming summer, and if 



I88 3 .] 

CURIOUS I T E M S A P. < ) U T H I R D S . 


they stop at the castle they should be on the look- A girl-reader sends us this account of how the 
out for this queer home of a pair of birds. sparrows found "the weak spot" in the masonry 

and took advantage of it : 


The St. Nicholas artist has made sketches also 
of two curious nests that were to be seen in New- 
York City. The first was built upon the arm of a 
stone angel which stands in a niche of Trinity 
Church. It could be plainly seen by passengers of 
the Elevated Railroad as the trains passed the 


in start- 
1 ing from 
the Rector 
street station. 
The nest was 
filled with 
young birds when seen by the 
friend who wrote to St. Nicholas about it. and 
the fledglings appeared to feel the protection of the 
angel's arm, and to be in nowise disturbed by the 
trumpet, or by the noise and confusion of the great 


The other nest was built in a goblet . On the 
side of the chapel of "St. Luke's Old Ladies' 
Home," New York City, is a panel holding the 
carved figure of a saint, the carving in high relief. 
The figure holds a chalice or goblet in the right 
hand, and in the goblet a pair of sparrows have 
built a nest, to which they return every year. 


" One day last summer, we noticed a couple of 
sparrows flying very often to one of the pillars of 
our back-piazza, where they seemed to disappear. 
We went to investigate, but all we could see was 
a few stalks of grass and hay sticking out of a little 


hoie in the masonry. (It was a flat pillar, right up 
against the wall of the house, from the floor to the 
roof of the porch.) We watched the place a min- 




ute or two, and presently a 
sparrow flew right in the 
hole — which really did n't 
seem to be more than an 
inch across ; but the bird 
went all the way in, out of 
sight, and we could hear 
the young birds chirping 
inside. I suppose the masons must have left a 
small cavity there when the house was built, and 
that the piazza post covered it all but this little 
corner. A pair of sparrows have built in the same 
place this year, too. I don't know, of course, 
whether or not they are the same ones, but I 
should think it highly probable." 


Mr. Ernest Ingersoll contributes the following 
account of a very curious and ingenious nest built 
by a little Asiatic bird : 

" Of all the hanging nests, commend me to that 
made of grass by the baya sparrow of India. It is 
one of the most perfect bird-houses I know of, and 
seems only to need a fire-place to make it a 
real house. Its shape and mode of attachment at 
the top to the end of the limb are shown in the 
picture. It is entered through the long neck at 
the lower end. The bed for the eggs rests in the 
bulb or expansion at the middle of the nest, where 
there are actually two rooms, for the male has a 
perch divided off from the female by a little par- 
tition, where he may sit and sing to her in rainy 
weather, or when the sun shines very hot, and 
where he may rest at night. The walls are a firm 
lattice-work of grass, neatly woven together, which 
permits the air to pass through, but does not allow 
the birds to be seen. The whole nest is from four- 
teen to eighteen inches long, and six inches wide 
at the thickest part. It is hung low over the 
water, — why, we shall presently see, — and its only 
entrance is through the hanging neck. 

"Why do birds build hanging nests? 

" Those birds that do make hanging nests, un- 
doubtedly do it because they think them the 
safest. Birds' eggs are delicacies on the bill of 
fare of several animals, and are eagerly sought by 
them. Snakes, for instance, live almost entirely 
upon them, during the month of June ; squirrels 
eat them, raccoons also, and opossums, cats, rats, 
and mice. But none of these animals could creep 
out to the pliant, wavy ends of the willow branches 
or elm twigs, and cling there long enough to get at 
the contents of a Baltimore oriole's nest. 

"In the country where the baya sparrow lives, 
there are snakes and opossums, and all the rest of 
the egg-eaters ; and in addition there are troops 

of monkeys, which are more to be feared than all 
the rest together. Monkeys are wonderfully ex- 
pert climbers, from whom the eggs in an ordinary 
open-top pouch nest, like the oriole's, would not 
be secure ; for if they can get anywhere near, they 
will reach their long, slender fingers down inside 
the nest. The baya sparrow discovered this, and 
learned to build a nest inclosed on all sides, and to 
enter it from underneath by a neck too long for a 
monkey to conveniently reach up through. Beside 
this, she took the precaution to hang it out on the 
very tips of light branches, upon which she thought 
no robber would dare trust himself. But she found 
that the monkeys ' knew a trick worth two o' that.' 
They would go to a higher limb which was strong, 
and one would let himself down from it, grasping it 
firmly with his hands ; then another monkey would 
crawl down and hold on to the heels of the first 
one, another would go below him, and so on until 
several were hanging to each other, and the lowest 
one could reach the sparrow's treasures. He would 
eat them all himself, and then one by one they 
would climb up over each other ; and last of all 
the tired first one, who had been holding up 
the weight of all the rest, would get up, too, and 
all would go noisily off in search of fresh plunder, 
which, I suppose, would be given to a different one, 
the rest making a ladder for him as before. 

"Now the cun 
ning baya spar- 
row saw a way '■ 
to avoid even ^r" 
this danger- 
ous trickery. She 
knew that there 

was nothing a -A/Ay -#''S?'T<* V'WBv 
monkey hated '^^^^WS^ 
so terribly as to 

get his sleek coat wet. He would rather go hun- 
gry. So she hung her nest over the water close to 
the surface, and the agile thieves do not dare make 
a chain long enough to enable the last one to 
reach up into her nest from below, as he must do, 
for fear that the springy branches might bend so 
far as to souse them into the water. 

" The sparrow has fairly outwitted the mon- 
kev ! " 





A TRAVELING NEST. crossed a ferry as regularly as the boat came and 

I. M., a Western friend, sends us a description " The Cedar River, though quite wide at Mus- 
of a nest built in a very peculiar place, and which catine, is very shallow, and ferrv-boats are run 




across by means of wire ropes 
stretched from one bank to 
the other. A block and pul- 
ley slip along the wire, and 
from each end of the boat 
comes a rope which is fast- 
ened to the block. By means 
of these ropes, the boat is 
inclined to the current in 
such a manner that the 
force of the stream drives 
the boat across without the 
use of oars, 
paddles, or 

"On this 
block a pair 
of birds 
built their 
nest, and 
reared a 
brood of 
young. The 
boat cross- 
ed at all 
times of the 
day and 
night, and 
at every trip 

the block, with the nest on it, would go rattling 
across on the iron cable, high above the water. 
The nest -was well guarded by the ferry-man, and 
was the marvel of all who saw it." 

We shall conclude our curious items about birds 
with an advertisement (in rhyme) which one of our 
correspondents has addressed to the birds them- 
selves : 


To RENT for the summer, or longer, if wanted, 
A fine lot of old nests — not one of them haunted: 
All built by day's work in the very best manner — 
Some Swiss and some Dutch and some a la Queen Anna. 

By title direct from Dame Nature I hold, 
And until I am felled not a stick shall be sold; 
The plan I pursue is to least- — don't you see? — 
With a clause that improvements shall follow the fee. 

In size the nests vary — but each has a perch : 

Some are swung like a hammock, some firm as a church. 


With views unsurpassed, and the balmiest breezes, 
We 're free from malaria and kindred diseases. 

We do have mosquitoes — the truth must be told; 

But in making this public I feel very bold, 

For the tenants 1 'm seeking will know how to treat 

And if they are saucy, without sauce they '11 eat 'em. 

My neighbor, the farmer, just over the way, 
Has an elegant barn where, without any pay, 
I welcome my tenants to all they can eat 
Of corn or of hay-seed, of oats or buckwheat. 

To suitable parties my charges are low 

(You '11 excuse if I ask for a reference or so). 

I 'm sure you '11 not think me exclusive or proud, 

But approve of my maxim, " No Sparrows allowed." 

For terms and conditions, if such you require, 
Drop a line to the owner, Rock Maple, Esquire 
(If you write, just address to St. Nicholas' care), 
Or call at the Tree-top — he 's sure to be there. 





By Edward S. Ellis. 

Chapter I. 


"I TELL you he 's risin', Jack, shuah 's you 's 
bawn ! " 

Crabapple Jackson, a stout negro lad, born in 
Kentucky, and twelve years old, had climbed to 
the top of the cabin of his employer (who lived in 
the lowlands of Arkansas), and, standing erect, 
while he steadied himself by placing one hand 
on the stone chimney, he looked anxiously toward 
the Mississippi. 

Jack Lawrence, the son of Crabapple's employer, 
and a year younger than the negro boy, also 
made his way up the steep incline of the roof, and 
a minute later stood beside " Crab," as he was 
always called. 

The Father of Waters, when he staid in his 
bed, was more than four miles away ; but on that 
day in March, 1882, he showed a disposition to 
leave his couch and wander over the adjoining 

Young Jack Lawrence, having placed himself 
near Crab, surveyed the alarming sight of the 
rising waters. They had noticed that morning 
that the Mississippi was unusually high, but at 
first had felt no anxiety, for a rise of the great river 
comes as regularly as the return of spring. 

There were only three persons in the house at 
this time — Jack, Crabapple, and Dollie, two years 
younger than her brother. Archibald Lawrence, 
the father of Jack and Dollie, was absent in Ken- 
tucky ; the mother had been dead more than a 
year; and Dinah, the cook and general superin- 
tendent of the household, was down in Alabama, 
visiting her friends and relatives, who were almost 
beyond enumeration. 

The great flood of 1874 had swept over the little 
plantation now occupied by Archibald Lawrence, 
but that was before he moved thither from Ken- 
tucky, so that all the family knew about it came 
from hearsay. 

"I tell you he's risin', Jack!" repeated Crab- 
apple, after the two had stood side by side for 
several minutes. 

"You are right; but the water is a half-mile 
away, and we are several feet above it," said Jack. 

"It don't take de ole riber long to climb up 
dem free, four feet — you can jes' make up your 
mind to dat," was Crab's cheerful reply. 

"Well, Crab, what is best to be done? Shall 
we take to the high ground back of us ? " 

That was the question which the two boys had 
been thinking over and talking about during the 
afternoon. There were three mules, two cows, a 
number of pigs and fowls, beside the children 
themselves, who would be caught in a dangerous 
predicament if the river overflowed its bank much 
more extensively than it had already done. Jack 
had even taken one of the mules, and, pounding his 
heels against his iron ribs, ridden on a gallop to 
the nearest neighbor, who lived about the same 
distance from the Mississippi, to ask his counsel. 
Colonel Carrolton had floated down to Vicksburg 
on a hen-coop during the flood of '74, since which 
time he had been looked upon as an authority on 

The Colonel was anxious, and news had come 
which caused him to fear that an immense destruc- 
tion of property was inevitable ; but he was hope- 
ful that the river would not reach the house of Mr. 
Lawrence nor his own ; at any rate, he was not 
going to make any move of his stock until the 
morrow. He was satisfied that it was safe to wait 
till the next morning, and he so said to young 
Lawrence. Thereupon Jack had pointed the head 
of his mule toward home, and begun pounding his 
ribs again. The animal struck into a trot, which, 
somehow or other, was so managed that he was 
always going up just as Jack was coming down, and 
vice versa. The lad had found himself so jolted 
and bruised by this strategy of the mule that he 
had been forced to bring him down to a walk. 

When the boy made his report to Dollie and 
Crab, they were greatly relieved ; but it can not 
be said that the words of Colonel Carrolton had 
brought full assurance, for the fact remained that 
the river was steadily rising, and no one could say 
when it would stop. 

Crabapple Jackson was the most anxious, for the 
stories which had reached his ears of flood and 
disaster along the Mississippi had magnified them- 
selves in his imagination, until he dreaded the over- 
flow more than any other danger. After feeding the 
stock, Crab, as already stated, had climbed upon 
the roof of the cabin, and, making his way to the 
peak, had taken a survey of the river. A careful 
study of landmarks soon told him that the stream 
had risen perceptiblv within the past hour, and 




that it was still creeping upward. Between the 
home of Archibald Lawrence and the river were 
numerous trees and quite a stretch of pine timber. 
When Crab had studied these bowing, swaying 
tops for some little time, he knew he had made no 
mistake. Jack Lawrence required but a few min- 
utes to assure himself on the same point, and then 
the two talked earnestly together. 

" I think we might as well start for the back 
country," said Jack, still standing beside the chim- 
ney, and looking out upon the vast inland sea 
sweeping southward. 

"We 've got to go a good six miles afore we 
strike de high ground back ob Gin'ral Johnson's, 
and I reckon dat we wont be safe till we get dar." 

"The country rises all the way, Crab; so that 
we ought to reach a place short of that where the 
river is in no danger of following." 

But Crab turned toward his young master, and 
shook his head, his huge flapping hat giving 
emphasis to the shake. 

" I tole you if de riber gets a start it is n't a-gwine 
to stop short ob Gin'ral Johnson's plantation, and 
dere is a good deal ob lowlands a-tween here and 

" If that is so, we may as well stay here till 
morning, for we can't get to his place till long 
after dark." 

" I guess you 's 'bout right," assented Crab, 
again turning his gaze upon the flood. 

Jack staid but a few minutes longer, and then 
he crawled back toward the roof of the shed ad- 
joining, upon which he dropped, and leaped to 
the ground, where Dollie was awaiting him. 

" I think we shall have to move to-morrow," said 
he, in answer to her anxious questions, "but we 
are safe until then." 

Dollie, like all younger sisters, accepted the word 
of her big brother as infallible, and, passing into 
the house, began making ready the supper, un- 
disturbed by a fear of what was corning. 

Nowhere in the world is more delicious corn- 
bread prepared than in Missouri and Arkansas. 
The climate and soil unite to produce this golden 
staple of food — alike appetizing and nutritious. 
Dollie set to work to bake some bread and to fry 
some bacon, when Jack looked in upon her. 

" Dollie," said he in an undertone, as if afraid 
some one would hear him, " while you 're about it, 
get enough bread and bacon ready to last several 

"What for?" asked the little girl, turning her 
big blue eyes on him in surprise. 

"We may not want it; but if we do, we shall 
want it badly." 

" It will be better if I make it fresh every day." 

" But you may not have the chance : if the river 

reaches the house before we are out of the way, 
we shall have no time to cook any food. Mind, 
Dollie, I don't think it will, but it 's best to be 
ready. I '11 help you." 

" Oh, I don't mind the trouble," said the in- 
dustrious little maid-of-all-work, moving briskly 
hither and thither, pushing her big brother to the 
right and left, and asking him to please keep 
out of her way. 

The fire was kept very hot, and until long after 
dark Jack and Crabapple helped Dollie prepare 
rations for the necessity which they hoped would 
never arise. 

Just before night closed in, Jack walked to the 
edge of the river to take a last survey. He stood 
within a yard or so of the muddy stream, and 
looked out upon the immense expanse, covered 
with trees, limbs, logs, cabins, and debris sweeping 
downward toward the Gulf of Mexico, all wear- 
ing a strange, uncanny look in the deepening 

All at once his feet felt cold, as though ice had 
touched them. Looking down, he found that he 
had become an island, for the water was flowing 
around his shoes, and several inches back of them. 

' ' My gracious ! how fast it is rising ! " he said 
to himself, hurrying toward the house again. 

At the barn he stopped long enough to untie the 
mules and take them from the stable ; the cows 
were already outside, where, if the flood should 
reach them, they would not be handicapped in any 

' • 1 wish I had n't taken Colonel Carrolton's ad- 
vice," thought Jack as he went into the cabin; 
"we ought to have started back for the highlands 
hours ago." 

Chapter II. 


JUST a half-century ago, that great philologist 
and traveler, Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, came upon 
a beautiful sheet of water in north-western Min- 
nesota, at an elevation of three-fourths of a mile 
above the sea level. The lake was walled in by- 
picturesque hills, and the outlet through which 
the clear, cold waters flowed to the sea, thousands 
of miles away, was twelve feet wide and a foot and 
a half deep. There are other lakes as lovely as 
Itasca, in Minnesota, — the " land of the sky-tinted 
water," according to the Indian legend, — but they 
can never be so famous, for it is the source of the 
mightiest river of the globe. 

The Miche Sepc, as the aborigines called the 
Mississippi, drains with its tributaries one-seventh 
of the North American continent. Its length, from 

.88 3 .) 

S W li P T AWAY. 


Itasca to the Gulf of Mexico, is more than one- 
eighth of the distance around the world, and its 
basin exceeds a million square miles. Its crystal- 
like current is tainted by the whitish 
mud of the Missouri, the red ocher of 
the Arkansas and Red rivers, and the 
emerald hue of the Ohio ; while it is 
forever bringing down and pouring in- 
to the Gulf a prodigious 
mass of earth, trees, and 
vegetation, the vastness 
of which is inconceivable. 
The Mississippi has 
made itself the problem 

dreading the worst, and as helpless when it comes 
as is the mountaineer who dwells in the shadow of 
the volcano or in the path of the avalanche. 

In the spring of 1879, Archibald Law- 
rence moved from Kentucky to the 
lowlands of Arkansas, taking with him 
his wife Margery, Jack, Dollie, Dinah 
the cook, and the negro lad, Crabap- 
ple Jackson. The home selected lay 
between the White River and the 

of the coun- 
try. Captain 
Eads has, 
to a certain 
extent, by 

means of his jetties, succeeded in 
deepening the treacherous mouth 
of the stream, so often choked with 
shifting sand-bars. But no plan 
has yet been devised by which 
the great river, when sur- 
charged with water, can be 
stopped from sweeping away 
the miles of levees, and carry- 
ing destruction, ruin, and death 
to the cities, towns, villages, 
hamlets, and plantations along 
its banks. The peril conies periodically, and has 
existed ever since the pioneer built his cabin within 
a day's ride of the Mississippi. But the planter and 
settler can only toil and spin, hoping for the best but 

- Mississippi, Crock- 
ett Bluff lying to 
the west, and Helena to the north- 
east. The soil of this section is gen- 
erally very productive ; and, as 
Lawrence bought hisbuild- 
ings and one hundred acres 
for a small sum, he had 
good reasons for hoping he 
-'_ should do better than in 
There were a number of immi- 
grants who had preceded him to 
that neighborhood, and they and 
the others were hospitable. There 
may have been slumbering some bitter 
memories of secession days, but they were 
never fanned into life, and Mr. Lawrence, 
who had been with General Thomas, in 
Tennessee, enjoyed many a smoke and chat with 
the grizzly old Confederates of "Arkansaw," while 
they fought the old battles over again. 

On his farm or plantation Mr. Lawrence raised 


S W E I' T A \V A V 


cotton, corn, sweet potatoes, and melons ; and, 
believing the climate and soil suitable for fruit, he 
gave much care to the culture of peaches, apples, 
pears, and grapes. Care and intelligence brought 


success. The fame of his fruit-farm spread, and 
he was visited by many who went home and 
attempted the same thing, some on a larger and 
some on a smaller scale. The cultivation of 
fancy fruit soon became a favorite pursuit in many 
parts of Arkansas. 

"A few more years," said the Kentuckian to his 
wife, as they sat on the bench in front of their 
cabin, "and we shall reap the reward of our 

" We have toiled hard, Archibald," replied his 
wife; "but the toil was lightened by love, and, 
therefore, it was blessed." 

" Labor is always more pleasant than idleness, 

have done well in the way of teaching them, but 
it is imposing too much on you, and they are enti- 
tled to greater advantages than we can give them." 

Husband and wife discussed their future with 
the confidence which we all show ; but, within a 
few weeks, the devoted wife and mother lay down 
upon the bed from which she was never to rise. 
Her death spoiled all the plans and hopes of 
Mr. Lawrence, who determined to sell his place 
and move back to Kentucky. He was absent on 
that business in the month of March, 1882, which 
explains how the two children, Jack and Dollie, 
were left for a fortnight in the cabin with only 
Crab to keep them company. 

But to return to our story. When the candles 
had been lighted and the doors all closed, the 
three anxiously discussed the situation. They 
had prepared a plentiful supply of food, which 
was placed in a bag and carried to the second 
story. They decided to keep on their clothing, 
and to stick to the cabin, which was so well 
put together that, if the flood did come, it would 
buoy them up. Jack owned a skiff which he 
always kept along the river's margin, but that 
had been swept away long before ; indeed, a frail 
vessel like that would have been less secure than 
a strong raft, such as the cabin would make. 

" De bestest ting dat Ave kin do am dis " 

said Crab, who thereupon stopped, inhaled a deep 
breath, and waited for the others to ask him to 
explain. They did so by their looks. 

"Dat am, for me to go on top de roof and 

" What good will that do?" demanded Jack. 

" Lean let you know how things are gwine, so 
you wont be took by s'prise." 



Margery, especially as, in our case, the reward is Jack could not see clearly what advantage would 
already in sight. A couple of years more, and be gained by the African perching himself there, 
Jack and Dollie must be sent away to school. You and suspected that the true reason was because 



he believed it was the safest place, in case the 
floods came. Crab proved the appropriateness of 
his name by climbing to the roof of the lower part 
of the cabin, from which he easily made his way to 
that of the main one, finally establishing himself 
in his old position by the side of the chimney. 

" Do you think the water will reach us be- 
fore morning?'' asked Dollie, who again became 
alarmed over the preparations she had been help- 
ing to make for the last hour and more. 

" I hardly know what to think, Dollie ; I expect 
the river will be close to us, though I hope we shall 
be able to get the stock off when daylight comes." 

" What will become of us ? " asked Dollie. 

" We shall have to go with them, of course. 
General Johnson and the other neighbors will aid 
us until we can hear from Papa," said Jack. 

" Has the river ever been much higher than 
now?" continued his sister. 

''You have heard them tell of the great flood 
of 1874, when it was much higher." 

"Then it must have covered all the land 
around us ? " replied Dollie, anxiously. 

"Yes, and a good way back in the country. 
You see, we are between two rivers, — the White 
and the Mississippi, — and both are very high. If 
they continue to rise, why — we shall have to float 
off with the cabin." 

And then what will become of 


Dollie, with expanding eyes. 

" It is a long way to New Orleans ; but there are 
a good many towns and people along the shores. 
Besides, the steamers will be on the lookout for 
persons adrift. I don't like the prospect of starting 
down the Mississippi at night on the top of a log 
cabin ; but a good many have done it, and never 
been the worse. You know Colonel Carrolton 
went all the way to Vicksburg, clinging to a hen- 
coop. There was an old rooster inside, which he 
meant should be his companion all the way, but 
the Colonel finally became so hungry, that he 
wrung his neck and ate him raw." 

Pretty little Dollie Lawrence turned up her nose 
at the thought of eating uncooked chicken, for she 
could not see how any one could be hungry enough 
to do that. 

" If the water reaches the first floor, we will go 
upstairs," added her brother ; " and, if it gets up 
to the second story, why, we shall have to take to 
the roof." 

" Suppose it reaches the roof?" 

" Before it gets that high we shall be afloat 

heigho ! " 

The boy and girl started up, for just then they 
heard a strange sliding noise overhead, followed 
by a resounding blow on the roof of the kitchen 
and then a solid thump on the ground. Dollie 

caught up the candle and ran to the door, 
Jack at her elbow. As the light was held aloft, 
they saw Crabapple Jackson rising to his feet in a 
confused way, as though he hardly understood 
what had happened. 

" What 's the matter?" asked Jack. 

" I guess I must have been 'sleep," said Crab, 
walking unsteadily toward the door, which he 
entered, the others passing inside with him. 

"Yes, dat was it," he added, brightening up; 
". I got asleep when I was n't tinkin', and rolled 
off de roof." 

"Did n't it hurt you?" asked Dollie in much 

"Not a bit," was the cheery reply, "but I 
t'oueht it was goin' to be de last ob me." 

Chapter III. 


"ARE you going back to the roof?" asked Jack, 
unable to keep from laughing at Crab's mishap. 

" No ; I don't tink dat 's de right kind ob bed to 
sleep in. If you go to turn ober, you roll off, and 
besides, I could n't find any piller to lay my head 

The front door of the cabin had been left open. 
There were in this portion but two rooms on the 
first floor, the rear door facing the river. Dollie 
walked to the latter, opened it, and held the can- 
dle above her head, but the draught was so strong 
that it was puffed out before she could use her 
eyes, and the three were left in darkness. It was 
quickly relit, but during the brief time taken in 
doing so all three had caught an alarming sound : 
it was that made by water forcing its way among 
the trees, close to the house. Cautioning his sister 
to keep the light away from the draught. Jack 
stepped out of the rear door, and began carefully 
groping his way toward the barn, which lay in the 
direction of the river. The rush and roar of the 
muddy current was in his ears, and he had gone 
less than half the distance when his shoes splashed 
in the water — the Mississippi was at their very 
door, and had already surrounded the barn. It had 
risen, and was still rising, with alarming rapidity ; 
a few minutes more and it must reach the house. 
Jack Lawrence turned about and dashed back 
to where Dollie and Crab were eagerly awaiting 
him. His frightened looks told the news before 
he spoke. 

" It wont do to wait any longer," said he ; " we 
must start for the back country at once." 

This declaration was a surprise, for up to that 
moment Jack had given the impression that he 


SWEPT away. 


meant to stay by the cabin and share its fortune. 
But the certainty that the great, surging river was 
creeping up upon them filled all three with a natu- 
ral anxiety to get beyond its grasp. They sprang 
up, and were about to rush out of the door, when 
Jack asked them to wait a minute. 

" We must take a little food with us," said he. 
"We don't need it all, but 1 will get a ham." 

He ran upstairs in a twinkling, and shortly re- 
turned with the article which was so likely to prove 

" Can't we take the candle ? " asked Dollie, who 
shuddered as she gazed out on the dark night, 
which was without any moon or stars. "If we 
don't, we shall get lost." 

The three looked in one another's faces in aston- 
ishment : why had they not thought of it before ? 
They had a lantern in the house which had been 
used many times. It was in the kitchen, and was 
brought out by Crab, who made a dash for it, 
returning in a few seconds. Then the candle 
which was on the table was lifted out of the stick 
and placed in the lantern, which was taken charge 
of by Jack, who led the way, with Dollie and Crab 
following close behind him. The door of the 
house was shut, and, swinging the light like a 
switchman signaling a train, the young leader 
moved away from the building. Less than a hun- 
dred yards distant ran the highway, parallel with 
the river, and at right angles to the course they 
were following. This highway, if followed some 
twenty miles, would take them to Helena, which 
stands on a high bluff, overlooking the Mississippi; 
to the south it would have led them to Arkansas 
Post, or, as it is more generally known, Arkansas 
City, a journey which would compel them to cross 
the White River. The road was no more than 
reached when all three received the greatest fright 
that had yet come to them : the highway was 
found to be full of water that was running like a 
mill-stream. The slight depression, which they had 
never noticed, was enough to open the path for 
the overflowing current before it reached the build- 
ing, although the latter was nearer the river-bank. 
The little party paused, with their feet almost in 
the water, and Jack held the lantern above his 
head. As he did so, they saw the current as far in 
front as their vision penetrated. 

" It 's no use," said Jack ; " we 're too late." 

' ' What shall we do ? " asked Dollie, showing a dis- 
position to nestle closer to her big brother and cry. 

" Dar 's only one ting dat we can do," was the 
sensible remark of Crab, who turned about and ran 
in the direction of the house. 

The others were not far behind him. They 
quickly reached the porch, over which they scam- 
pered, and dashed through the door, the latch- 

string of which was hanging out. They did not 
fail to notice one important fact : they stepped in 
water where there was none when they had left 
but a few minutes before, and an ominous splashing 
was heard in the yard of the building itself. The 
Mississippi was already knocking at their door, and 
could not be kept out much longer. 

All this was plain enough, but the children were 
not without a strong hope that the cabin would 
keep its base until the danger passed. It must 
have required a stupendous increase to raise the 
river the few feet shown during the last few hours, 
for the expansion was enormous. A proportion- 
ately greater volume would be necessary to bring 
it over the floor of the structure. 

" I don't think it will be lifted off its foundation 
until the water is pretty well to the second floor," 
said Jack; " and it will be a wonderful thing if it 
reaches that point." 

But as they talked they could hear the eddying 
of the current around the corners of the house, and 
against the porch and trees — the swish and wash 
showing that it was rising faster, if possible, than 
ever. The lantern was placed on the table, and 
its dull light added to the impressiveness of the 
scene. Dollie looked at the furniture, — the chairs, 
the table, the stand, the pictures, the gun resting 
on the deer-prongs over the mantel-piece, every- 
thing, — and wondered whether, in case the building 
itself should swing loose from its foundations, and 
go drifting over this wild inland sea, all these would 
stay together and be restored to her father again. 

" Heaven take care of Papa !" was her childish 
petition, as she thought of her loved parent. " I 'm 
glad he does n't know where Jack and I are to- 
night, for he would be so worried he could n't 
sleep. Dear God, please take care of Jack, and 
Crab, and me," she added, reverently, as she never 
failed to do when kneeling at her bedside; "and 
don't let us drown in the Mississippi." 

It was the simple, trusting prayer of childhood, 
but like petitions trembled that night on the lips 
of hundreds along the banks of the great river ; 
for a danger which they always dreaded was creep- 
ing stealthily and surely upon them. 

Chapter IV. 

" we 're off ! " 

The situation of Jack and Dollie Lawrence and 
Crab Jackson could hardly have been more dismal. 
They hoped that the river would not rise high 
enough to carry away the house, and yet there 
was reason to fear it would do so. Jack was like 
a physician, who notes the pulse of his patient: 
sitting in his chair, he was awaiting the jar which 
he dreaded to feel, but which was sure to come 



sooner or later. There was little that could be said 
to comfort one another, and all held their peace. 
Dollic was on her own chair, beside her brother, 
while her arm rested on his knee. She looked 
steadily at the yellow candle burning inside the 
lantern, and listened to the flow of the waters 
outside. All had clothed themselves warmly, for, 
though the weather was not severe, they were wise 
enough to make full preparations against it. They 
had on shoes and stockings, though Crab would have 
preferred to go barefoot, and sturdily refused to don 

rig up in fust-class style ; if it was n't for dat, I 
would n't wear dese pesterin' shoes, dat grow 
shorter ebery day." 

He intended to take his coat with him, if the 
cabin should start on its voyage, so that he could 
don it whenever the necessity should arise. 

" It will take four or five feet more," said Jack, 
speaking as much to himself as to Dollic. "It 
seems impossible; and yet, it keeps creeping up, 

up, ii]i, all the time 

"See tin: re!" 

As Jack uttered this exclamation, he 
arose like a flash and pointed toward the 
closed door. Crab, who was nodding by 
the table, rose also, and gazed across the 
room in a half-startled way ; but as he 
saw nothing that seemed very alarming, 
and as Jack said no more at that moment, 
he settled himself sleepily in his chair 
again. The brother and sister, however, 
saw something glistening under the door ; 
it shone for a minute, and then glided 
noiselessly forward — then stopped, as if 
reconnoitering before venturing further. 


the rather dilapidated coat which he wore in winter. 
His baggy trousers were held in place by a single 
suspender, which was skewered at the rear by a 
tenpenny nail, the extra length of the band flap- 
ping in the wind. This unequal support of his 
trousers gave Crab a lop-sided look, which he did 
not mind. His shirt was of the " hickory " variety, 
and quite clean. Crab had put it on that after- 
noon, when he learned there was a likelihood of 
the flood coming upon them. 

" Dar 's no telling whar 't will land us, " he mused. 
as he worked and tugged with his shoes. " We may 
strike Vicksburg, or Natchez, or New Orleans, or 
may be dar '11 come a whirlpool dat will land us up 
de riber at Cairo, and it's my belief dat I 'd better 

then pushed its head gently forward a few inches 
more, and then paused again. 

Jack at first thought it was a serpent stealing in 
upon them, and he was about to spring up for the 
gun, when he observed that it was a tiny stream of 
water forcing its way into the room. This showed 
that the current was more than a foot deep all 
around the house. In the kitchen, where the floor 
was lower, it must have entered some time before. 
Having reached the larger room, it appeared in a 
dozen places within the next three minutes, coming 
through the cracks of the floor and from all the 
corners and knot-holes. 

" It 's time to go upstairs," said Jack. "Come, 
Crab, it wont do to stay here any longer." 



[ May, 

" Did you ever? " exclaimed Dollie. " He 's Her brother took the hint and brought it upstairs, 

sound asleep ! " though at the same time remarking that he did 

Crab's big round straw hat had fallen to the not think they should need it. They took good 

floor, and his head was lying over the back of his care not to forget the bag of provisions. 


OfPflff "™ 


chair. His mouth was very wide open and his 
eyes closed. There could be no doubt he was 
sunk in slumber, though his breathing was no 
deeper than usual. Jack shook him by the 
shoulder. The drowsy fellow opened his eyes, 
and when he saw Jack take the lantern from the 
table and start up the short stairs, followed by 
Dollie, he knew what it meant. 

" Ou'ar dat I can't shet my eyes but dat some- 
body must roll me off de house or wake me up." 

While uttering this plaint, he had picked his hat 
from the floor and was in the second story almost 
as soon as the others. There were two rooms 
used for sleeping purposes, the quarters of Crab 
and Dinah being over the kitchen. From the 
apartment belonging to Mr. Lawrence a trap-door 
opened to the roof, but the boys would never 
have dared use it, unless under the stress of some 
great necessity like the present one. All that re- 
mained was to sit down -and wait and watch and 
pray. Crab was so very wide awake, that he felt 
as though he could not sleep for a week to come. 
The children knew well enough that it would never 
do for them to stay where they were, in case the 
house should be lifted from its base, for the water 
would be sure to fill that room. Therefore, Jack 
stepped upon a chair and pushed the trap-door 
back, so that, when necessary, they could pass 
through and place themselves on the upper sur- 
face of what would then become a raft. When 
this was done, Dollie asked him why he did n't 
bring the gun from below, as thcv might need it. 

" I feels hungry already," said Crab, looking 
wistfully at the valuable property. 

" You can keep on feeling hungry," said Jack, 
"for you don't get anything to eat before to- 
morrow morning." 

Crab sighed, but said nothing, for though older 
than his young master, he never resisted him. 
The rush of the water against the house sounded 
loudly in their ears, and, more than once, they felt 
the structure tremble from top to bottom : there 
could be no doubt now in the minds of all that it 
would soon be afloat. Jack walked to the head of 
the stairs and held the lantern so that he could 
look down the steps. 

" It 's half-way to this floor," said he, " and we 
sha'n't have to wait long." 

"Har we go!" exclaimed Crab, springing up 
from the chair on which he had been sitting; 
" let 's run out on de roof ! " 

Jack was on the point of leading the way, when 
he perceived that Crab had been mistaken : the 
cabin still remained firm. But a crashing, grind- 
ing splintering was heard, which they at once knew 
was caused by the wrenching off of the other part 
of the building. There was less weight to that, 
and it had swung loose and gone down the river. 
The children trembled, for nothing was more cer- 
tain than that the larger part of the house would 
soon follow. 

" 1 don't think it will do to wait any longer," 
said Jack, " for, when it starts, it will go with a 
rush, and we mav have no time to get out of a 

A WEATHER I' R I I P 1 1 K C V . 


very bad place. I '11 climb up first, then I '11 help 
Dollic up, and Crab can follow." 

••Hurry up," said the negro; "for, if dar aint 
much time, den dar aint any time to fool away." 

This was self-evident, and Jack Lawrence acted 
upon the hint. He easily drew himself up through 
the trap-door, and, making his seat secure, reached 
down and pulled up Dollie after him. She was 
timid when she found herself on the roof, but 
she meant to be brave, and, though the roof 
inclined considerably, she took the lantern and 
felt safe for the time. Then the gun, provisions, 
and some articles of clothing were passed up 
by Crab, who clamored for more haste. Jack 
gave him his hand, but just as Crab reached up- 
ward, the chair on which he was standing tipped 
over, and he came near dragging* Jack down with 

( 7>. be c, 

him. But Crab kicked the air vigorously for a 
minute or two, while Jack stoutly held on, and at 
last the boy came through the opening, where 
Dollie sat, lantern in hand, awaiting him. 

" Now that we are all here," said Jack, "let 's 
move up nearer the chimney, where we '11 be 
farthest from the water. 

The proposal was acted upon, and a few minutes 
after the three were on the peak of the roof; but, 
as there was some doubt whether the chimney 
would keep the building company, they kept at a 
prudent distance from it, fearing that it might make 
things unpleasant when the crisis should come. 

" We Ye done all we could," said Jack, " and I 
don't think we shall have to wait long " 

" Hello ! we '/r off.' " 

This time Crabapple Jackson was right. 






By Frank Beard. 

Years ago, the writer was invited to deliver a 
lecture before a number of friends. Being at a 
loss for a subject, he concluded to take no subject, 
but simply to draw some large cartoons in chalk, 
and entertain his audience by developing pictures 
before their eyes. Naturally, as the pictures grew 
they suggested explanatory remarks, jokes, inci- 
dents, and stories ; in short, there was so much 
talk mixed in with the pictures that, as the enter- 
tainment had no other name, it came to be known 
as "Chalk Talk." 

Ten years of travel through the United States, 
and much pleasant visiting among young people, 
with unusual opportunities of observing their in- 
clinations and latent talents, suggests the idea that 
many only need a little direction to be able to 
amuse themselves and their friends by "Chalk 
Talks " of their own. 

Of course, it is not the purpose of this article to 
give a systematic lesson in drawing. There are 
already plenty of good works on this subject, and 
we desire only to stimulate the fancy and creative 
faculty by giving practical hints in the use of 
charcoal and chalk. 

Every family in which there are young people 
should have a blackboard of some kind. They 
may be bought of all sorts and sizes, or they can be 
manufactured at home. A piece of smooth board, 
covered with two coatings of liquid slating, sand- 
papered when dry, will give an excellent surface ; 
but the best is the lapinum cloth. This comes 
prepared for writing on both sides, and by cover- 
ing a smooth board of the requisite size with a 
layer of paper upon its face, and then tacking the 
lapinum over the paper, the result is as soft and 
pleasant a surface to draw on as could be desired. 

Having prepared the board and furnished our- 

selves with chalk, we naturally ask, "What shall 
I draw ? " Draw ? Why, draw anything, so that 
it is amusing ; and almost anything can be made 
amusing. But, for all that, we had better not 
begin with a telegraph pole or a bale of cotton, 
because it requires too much real hard study to get 
much amusement out of these. Let us take some- 
thing which has expression and character. Try a 
pig. But before we begin, let us consider what 
the animal shall be doing or thinking about — for 
the supposition is that even a pig thinks ; and just 
as surely as he thinks, he thinks about something 
to eat. Now we have often observed the attitude 
of attention which the pig assumes as he hears the 
familiar cry of " Piggy ! piggy ! piggy!" which 
summons him to his repast of swill, and we can 
suggest the expression with- a few lines in a 
very simple way. Thus : Now let us draw him as 

he appears when, 
satisfied with the 
benevolent inten- 
tions of the caller, 
he trots off content- 
edly to his dinner, 
by using the very 

t — y 

v — r 

We can do this if we choose 
same lines and reversing the figure 
Such things we can do very quickly : 

must always do 

and if we 
our work 


wish to amuse, we 
rapidly, studying to 
use no more lines 
than are absolutely 
necessary to pro- 
duce the expression 
we desire to con- 
vey. The following illustrations are a few exam- 
ples of how character can be suggested with very 
little work. 






In designing and drawing such slight outlines, 
it is well to consider the different lines used by 
themselves, and, remembering their proper places, 

10\ ^y. 


, itRLL- 

I the figure can be drawn in an astonishingly 
/ short time. For instance, take the owl : 

(o -f First, as shown below, we have three sim- 
"* pie lines, then the circles which make the 
eyes ; next, two corre- 
sponding sides. Add 
■"'' the three marks for the 
legs, finishing with the toes, 
and we have the owl complete. 
Thus we can analyze each of 
the illustrations, or, by exercis- 
ing a little inge- 
nuity, design new - 
ones, by placing 
before us a 
picture of 

like the accompanying outline sketch. 
can simplify the figure, and draw it 
idly, by merely making an 
arc for the back, and a 
horizontal line for the 
under-side. Now we 
will put in the eyes, 
ears, tail, and legs, 
and we have a pretty 
fair mouse, as shown by the small diagrams below. 
From the same outline we might make a num- 
ber of other objects : a fish, a turtle, and, no doubt, 
---,, many curious things. 
Thus we see that, if 
V '; we desire to draw 
rapidly, we must use 
very few lines. 

In giving character 
to an object, every- 
thing depends on the 
kind of line used. We 
• must be especially 
careful in the use of 
curves and angles, as 
they express entirely 


something that we wish to draw, and simplifying 
the original. Take any picture of a mouse, such 
as may be found in common school-books. After 

^\f !fs6 /$y^ /3\/6j 

studying the form of 
the animal until we 
perceive the general 
lines which give it char- 
acter, we will soon come 
to the conclusion that 
there is nothing very difficult to be accomplished. 
Our first trial will probably result in something 

Vol. X.— «. 

different qualities. Straight lines and angles in 


ness, etc., while the curved lines 
indicate grace and freedom. 
Take, for example, the skater. 

First we have an 


how gracefully he glides over the frozen surface of 
the lake, and observe the tracks which he leaves 




behind him — all beautiful curves. Now see the 
awkward learner, and notice how angular are the 
positions which he assumes. Examine the tracks 
left by his skates. 

Again, take the horse as an example : What a 
beautiful animal when in good condition, and how 
soft the curves which constitute the outlines ! But 
when we draw the horse with straight lines and 
angles, we give at once the impression of awkward- 
ness and debility. We may also illustrate the dif- 
ferent character of curves and angles by the features 
of an old man and those of a child. 

After learning to draw simple outlines, the en- 

It really makes little difference what outline we 
choose, but to illustrate further let us examine 
another figure and some of the possibilities it 
presents, which can be seen on the next page. 

We may even take the alphabet, thus: "A is 
for Artist," and with a few strokes of the crayon 
we have the artist himself. 

" B stands for Butterfly," and with a little ad- 
dition we have the butterfly. 

" C stands for Caterpillar." — and so on. 

Thus we could go through the whole alphabet, 
transforming the letters into odd representations of 
the objects they stand for. But we need the room 

tertainment can be made much more interesting 
by introducing transformations of various kinds. 
In order to do this, we may select some outline 
that will admit of a number of changes. Here, 
for example, is a form which suggests nothing in 
particular, and is apparently without interest ; but, 
by exercising a little ingenuity, we can easily make 
from it, as you see, a number of funny things. 

for other things, and if too much is told there will 
be nothing left for the ingenuity of the reader to 

Much amusement may be derived from queer 
illustrations of Mother Goose rhymes, and the in- 
terest could be greatly increased by the introduc- 
tion of transformations to suit the changes of the 
story. For instance : 

i88 3 .] 



There was a man in our town, 
Who was so wondrous wise 

He made himself a big balloon, 
To sail up in the skies. 

Draw on the board an outline of the balloon. 

Before he made his final trip. 

He thought he 'd try it first; 
But ere he got up forty rods, 

The horrid thing it burst ! 

Draw a number of lines at the top of the bal- 
loon, indicating the place where it burst, and then, 
by drawing the man's features on the balloon, show 
how he looked when he discovered the accident. 

Leaving the same sketch on the board, we can 
illustrate another story to the same tune : 

on which to practice, and will really answer any 
ordinary demand ; but, in case we wish to make 
quite an affair of our "Chalk Talk," and invite 
the neighbors in to witness the enter- 
tainment, it is well to have paper for 
some of our illustrations. Almost any 
kind will answer the purpose, but the 
largest sheets of buff manilla paper are 
the best. The surface is just right to 
take the charcoal and chalk easily, and 
it is tough and not apt to break or tear, 
besides being cheap. A dark buff color 
is the best shade to select, because it will show the 
white chalk as well as other colors. It is true that 
quite a life-like picture can be drawn in brilliant 
colors on the blackboard, but it is much easier and 
generally more effective to use paper for rapid draw- 
ing in many colors. The secret of rapid and tell- 
ing work lies in the knowledge of just what you 
are going to do, and how you are going to do it. 
There must be no hesitation. The study must all 
be done before any exhibition is attempted. But 
it is much easier to determine what you wish to do 
than how you are to accomplish it ; therefore, a few 

There was a man in our town, 

And he was wondrous wise: 
He lifted up the skeeter bar, 

And let in all the flies. 

But when he tried to go to sleep, 

He found it was in vain; 
So he lifted up the skeeter bar, 

And let 'em out again. 

Draw a few lines to indicate the pillow and 
coverlid, change the eyeballs to the top corners 
of the eyes, and put in the flies, and we have this 
rhyme illustrated. This can all be done on a 
blackboard — indeed, for outline work, the black- 
board is better than any other surface ; but there 
are certain express- 
ive phases of char- -./■ ■ 
acter, especially 
quick changes in 
the expression of 
the eye, which can 
be delineated much 
more satisfactorily 

on paper. The white chalk on black ground is 
apt to produce an expression altogether the op- 
posite of that which is intended — making the 
eyes look down when we actually intend them 
to look up. The blackboard is the best thing 

general hints on the subject will not be amiss. Recol- 
lect that the aim of a " Chalk Talk " is to produce 
a finished effect with the fewest possible lines in the 
shortest possible time, so we must not needlessly 
waste time in the introduction of the different colors. 
We will suppose that we have the paper nicely 
tacked on the board, and the chalks (ordinary 
school chalks, assorted colors, are as good for the 
purpose as any others) and charcoal at hand. We 
will begin by illustrating the rhyme : 

" This ugly wight would ne'er go right: 
Would you know the reason why ? 

He follows his nose where'er it goes, 
And that stands always awry." 

Selecting a piece of red chalk, hold it so that 
the side — not the end — will be against the paper. 




ing some irregular lines on the surface of the egg 
to indicate the place where he has broken the 




Mb ' 

Rub it lightly, covering with the red tint as much 

surface as the size of the head requires. It makes 

little difference if the 

tint does not take the 

exact shape of the head 

to be drawn. We next 

seize the white chalk, 

and with a stroke lay in 

the collar. Then for the coat. If we 

desire a blue coat, by rubbing with 

the side of the blue chalk we produce 

a mass of color about the shape we 

desire ; and we finish with brown 

trousers. Now a little patch of brighter red on 

the place where we intend to make the nose, and 

we are ready to complete the illustration by simply 

drawing the outline with charcoal over the shades 

we have produced. 

An amusing transformation in different colors 

can be made from a fruit-piece. Here, for exam- shell. Then bring the story to a satisfactory ter- 

ple, are an apple and a pear. Colored in red and mination (showing how wickedness is punished) 

yellow, with a touch of green near the top, they by introducing the bird, which appears prema- 

make a very pretty picture ; but the caricaturist is turely from his shell and takes summary venge- 
ance upon the sly thief 
to the tune of " Pop 
Goes the Weasel." 

Now we have had 
enough suggestions for 
transformations to put 
the reader upon the 
track ; but we would 
warn him that these 
transformations can not 
be conceived in a mo- 
ment, but must be de- 
signed and practiced 
until the artist becomes 

not satisfied with this result. He must get ahead perfectly familiar with all the details, and knows 

of a pear in some way; so he puts in a pair of eyes just what lines and what chalk he will use from the 

with white chalk, draws dark circles around them 

with his charcoal to make them stand out brightly, 

then adds a nose and mouth, and he has changed 

the pear into a head. The apple must not be 

neglected, so it assumes the features of a funny 

baby. The spectator will be puzzled to understand 

what is going to be done now; but the artist him- 
self knows very well, and, by adding appropriate 

bodies, causes the design to become apparent — 

or "a parent." In the same manner, a sugar-bowl 

may be transformed into a first-rate Chinaman. 

A story might be told about a weasel and an egg. 

First draw the egg in outline (see next page), 

shading it along the bottom edges with gray 

chalk, and putting a little white on the top of the 

larger end. to give it the appearance of round- one for each hand and foot 
Then introduce the wteasel, and tell how examples on the next page. 

beginning to the end. 
be found in placing fivt 

A very good exercise will 
points or dots upon the 

board, in any position, and 
then trying to so draw a 
human figure that each ex- 
tremity will touch a point 
-a point for the head and 

We present a few 
As soon as the stu- 

he tried to suck the egg, at the same time draw- dent is skillful enough to draw a passable figure, a 



little practice will make him so sure of success in using very few lines without stop or hesitation ; so 

that any one may be allowed to place the points. it is better as a rule not to lift your chalk from the 

Perhaps a "Chalk Talk" would be more sue- board until the required shade or line is completed. 

cessful if two were to take part in the performance. 
Select the boy or girl who seems best adapted for 
that part to do the talking, and the one most skill- 
ful as an artist to draw the pictures. The " talk- 

In case you are drawing with several colors, 
select those you purpose to use in your picture, 
and hold them in your left hand ready for use. 
When applying a certain color to your picture, let 
it finish its work before it is relin- 
quished. For instance, you are draw- 
ing a girl with a blue hat, blue 
parasol, and blue underskirt. Put 
a shade of blue on the board for the 
hat, another where the parasol is to 
be drawn, and still another for the 
underskirt. Now you have finished 
with the blue crayon, and can lay it 
aside, using the next color in the 

ing " part may be an extemporaneous story, a poem, 
or a reading ; but the talker must always so arrange 
his sentences as to give the artist a chance to illus- 
trate one point before another is presented. 

Now a few hints to the artist. Make your out- 
lines with a strong, steady press- 
ure, so as to produce a thick, uni- 
form line that may be seen across 
the room. Never draw two lines 
when one will convey the idea. 
The secret of drawing rapidly lies 
not so much in hurried action as 

succession, whatever it may happen to be, in pre- 
cisely the same manner. 

Perhaps some of those who read this article do 
not possess the skill necessary to produce the illus- 
trations exhibited here, but there are many who 
draw sufficiently well to furnish 
a half-hour's entertainment : and 
those who are not ambitious to 
give a veritable "Chalk Talk" 
will find a world of amusement in 
designing original and amusing 
things upon their own blackboards. 





As the railways penetrate into the remote, 
picturesque parts of Europe, the national costumes 
gradually disappear, and the only places where one 
sees now the old-time dresses, are country fairs, 
stations, and third-class railway carriages. 

While the women are giving up many of their 
stiff, quaint dresses, they still cling to their distinct- 
ive head-dresses, so that the queer-looking heads 
on the opposite page look very much like the heads 
of the great-grandmothers of these foreign folk. 
In fact, many of the ornaments and head arrange- 
ments were the identical ones worn by the great- 
grandmothers, still preserved with great care by 
the modern great-granddaughters. 

This curious-looking thing at the top and mid- 
dle of the page, and which looks so much like a 
sign-board, is not one, but the back view of a 
quaint, outlandish cap — from Concarneau, in Brit- 
tany. How it is made, how the wires hold out 
such an expanse of muslin, and how the wearer 
gets through narrow door-ways, are mysteries 
which can only be solved in Concarneau itself. 

Less grotesque, but almost as difficult to arrange 
and keep in order, is the one to the left, worn by 
all the maidens in Nantes ; it looks like the del- 
icate wing of a locust, and is almost as transparent 
and fragile ; she must have her troubles in keep- 
ing the filmy structure from being crushed and 
blown off. 

The other woman on the right is from sunny 
Italy, and she has evidently studied the becoming 
to great advantage ; — she is a Roman nurse, and 
when she walks out on the Pincian Hill, with her 
blue-black hair encircled with a garland of bright 
scarlet ribbons, thrust through with a bunch of sil- 
ver wheat, her large golden ear-rings flashing in the 
sunlight, and her coral beads wound around her 
throat, she attracts more attention than the little 
Italian noble she is tending, you maybe sure. Just 
below her left shoulder is a head-covering which 
would be hard to describe, and still harder, I should 
think, to make, as it has almost as many angles as 
a problem in geometry, only the sides are not at 
all equal, and the use of the little bag at the end 
must be left to conjecture. 

The three demure figures whose faces are 
turned toward her are all from parts of Ger- 
many. The first of these head-dresses is from the 
Black Forest, and is black, with long ribbons down 
the back, but the small crown is red, covered with 
gold embroidery. The lower one is very similar, 
only a highly ornamented horn takes the place of 
the crown at the back ; these are only donned on 

Sundays and state occasions, and at other times 
doubtless repose in the old painted trousseau- 
chest. The middle one is plainer, and gives the 
modest German fraulein a most prim and anti- 
quated look, and, as she kneels in the cathedral, 
with downcast eyes, she could easily have stepped 
out of an Albrecht Diirer picture. 

Not so the woman who holds the middle of the 
page. She has no hard, formal lines about her, 
everything is flowing and graceful ; her white 
linen napkin is folded in the most picturesque man- 
ner, so as to fall on either side of her olive, oval 
face, and it sets off to the greatest advantage her 
splendid dark eyes. Although she looks down, 
she knows she looks artistic ; and the first artist who 
sees her will want to put the Italian contadina's 
head on canvas — which is more than can be said 
of the sister of charity, who walks about the streets 
of Florence, wearing a huge Tuscan straw shade- 
hat, with a brim about two feet wide, over her sim- 
ple convent attire. 

As the sister's head-dress is simple and plain, so 
is the head-dress just below, belonging to a fresh- 
faced Holland girl, intricate and elaborate. The 
entire head is covered with a lace cap and frill, 
underneath which gleams a band of gold or silver ; 
to the ends of these are attached gold blinders, 
which prevent any sidelong or wandering glances. 
Above the blinders are small rosettes of hair ; not 
her own, which is rigidly put out of sight, but 
false, coarse little bunches, which, in turn, are sur- 
mounted by erect golden pins, like the antenna; of 
an insect. The last touch to this complex costume 
is a metal band that runs obliquely across the fore- 
head ; this is always an heirloom, and among rich 
Hollanders is sometimes set with diamonds. 

The stiff Dutch lady below is from Broeck, in 
Holland, as she appeared sitting erect, listening to 
a Dutch sermon from a Dutch parson. Her head 
is gotten up like that of her young countrywoman, 
but is surmounted by her best Sunday bonnet, the 
fashion and shape of which never have changed 
from the first, in her quiet, well-scrubbed village. 

The damsel from Utrecht was seen and sketched 
on a steam-boat, on the river Scheldt ; she was on 
her travels, but her head-gear must have impeded 
her view, especially two large gold-wire springs, 
that protruded from her temples. No doubt they 
were thought to be very beautiful in Utrecht. 

The object in the lower left-hand corner, if one 
studies it awhile, is found to be a woman becapped 
and bonneted, her nose only showing. This 
vision is seen constantly in Antwerp market. 


55 1 

^.^-M 1 °\) 


The huge black silk bow on this fresh little which the women of Scheveningen wear, as they 

blonde, although it has ends like rabbit-ears, cer- tramp along the shores of the North Sea, with 

tainly is not so ugly, when seen in the Baden their baskets of fish ; but these hats are so large 

forests or in Alsace, as are the great coal-scuttles and deep they hide the great red faces beneath. 







Bv A. P. Williams. 

A big black cloy met a 

big black goat 

one day 

on the street. Said the big black dog to the 
big black goat: "Let 's play!" "What shall 

black goat to the big 
black dog. " A-ny-thing you like," said the big 
black dog to the big black goat. "Well," said 
the big black goat to the big- black dog-- and he 
stood up on his hind legs to make a bow. On 
his way down, the big black goat struck the 
big black dog with his head and threw 
him off the walk. "What 's that?" said the 
big black dog to the big black goat. " I 

on't play that way ! 

• Butt / " said the big black 
goat to the big black dog, 
" that 's the way / play ! " 




By Joel Stacy. 

Once there was a vain lit-tle girl named Kate, who thought more of her 
fine clothes than of a-ny-thing else. She would look in the glass a long 
time when-ev-er she put on her hat, and then she would turn and twist 
her-self this way and that, to ad-mire the bow of her wide sash-rib-bon. 

Well, one day her mam-ma said: "Kate, if you will put on your hat 
quick-ly, you may drive with me in the Cen-tral Park. But I can wait 
for you on-ly two min-utes, my clear." 

"Oh, yes, Mam-ma," said Kate, much de-light-ed ; "I shall be read-y." 
So she went up-stairs and braid-ed her hair, and 
tied it with a rib-bon. Then she put on her best 
shoes, and her best dress, and her best sash. This 
she tied a-bout her waist in front, mak-ingf a larcre 
bow ; then she pushed the sash down as far as she 
could, and then turned it a-round so as to put the 
bow be-hind. But Kate did not yet feel sat-is-fied. 
The pink sash, she thought, would, af-ter all, look 
bet-ter than the blue one ; so she took off the blue 
and put on the pink sash. Then she said she must 
have a pink bow on her hair to match the sash. At 
last she was near-ly dressed, all but the gloves — 
which pair should she wear? Her lace mits were 
pret-ty, but she felt they were too old ; so she put 
on her white silk gloves, but soon took them' off, 
be-cause they were too short to suit her. Then 
she put on her kid gloves, and felt just like cry-ing 
be-cause they were a lit-tle loose. Poor, fool-ish 
lit-tle girl ! At last her gloves were on, and af-ter 

tak-ing her lit-tle par-a-sol from the shelf, and ad-mir-ing her-self in the 
glass a-gain and a-gain, she ran down-stairs. 

" Mam-ma, Mam-ma ! " she called. But Mam-ma did not an-swer. 

Then Bridg-et, who was dust-ing the hall, said : 

" Shure, Miss Ka-tie, it it's yer mam-ma ye are want-in', she's gone out 
rid-in' 'most an hour a-go, so she has." 

Poor Kate ! She sat down on the stairs and cried. 

"It was all the fault of my gloves," she sobbed. 

Do you think it was ? 




m W WS: 


' Good-morrow ! " I said to you all, 
When boisterous winds were blowing; 
But now it 's "good-day ! " for it 's May — 
And never a morrow can come this way 
More fair and good than a day in May, 
Or wiser than this that is going. 

She 's smiling ? Why, then it is well. 

She is frowning? We need n't be snarling: 

For if she is sad, it is bad 

To whine, forsooth! that the day isn't glad, 

For there is n't a weather that May has n't had 

To work in and laugh in, the darling ! 

Now is she not lovely and true : 

And is she not wise and knowing ? 

If it were not for her, why what would they do - 

The things that are ready for growing ? 

So good-day to you all ! I say, 

For it 's May, and she 's here to-day, 

And never a morrow can come this way 

More fair and good than a day in May, 

Whatever way she be going. 


A friend sends your Jack an account of a fire at 
a certain place in the State of Pennsylvania, which 
has already burned for nearly fifty years, and is 
likely to continue for years to come. The story 
goes on to say that, about half a century ago, some 
men opened a mining "drift" (or passage for an 
under-ground road) into a mountain about four 
miles from Pottsville, and that it was usual, at that 
time, to build a large fire at the mouth of the drift. 
in midwinter, to prevent its being blocked up by 
snow and ice. One Saturday night, in 1835, the 
fire was left unguarded, but Monday morning dis- 
closed to the miners the result of their folly. The 
timber of the drift had ignited, and the flames had 

been communicated to the coal in the mine. The 
mine had to be abandoned, and all efforts to 
quench the fire, which constantly grew more in- 
tense, were soon given up. The under-ground fire 
had its own way, and in time turned the mountain 
into a burning mass. A few years ago, when the 
flames were nearer the surface than now, the sky 
was lighted up with a ruddy glare at night, while 
rain and snow disappeared in clouds of vapor as 
they fell on the hot, parched surface. People who 
endeavored to open mines in the same vicinity 
have been repeatedly driven out by the fire. 


If you don't believe it, just reflect upon the fact 
— fresh from Deacon Green — that, in a single 
quart of water taken from a lake near Minneapolis, 
a scientific gentleman lately counted 1829 small 
creatures, all visible to the naked eye. 

It may interest my younger hearers to know that, 
of these 1829 little folk, there were 1400 ceriodaph- 
nia, 9 daphnia, 56 simocephalus, 50 cypris, 28 Cy- 
clops, 120 amphipods, 35 infusoria, 22 mollusks, 
100 diptera, and 9 hemiptera. 

The Deacon says that while 1800 does seem a 
rather laige population for a quart of water, yet 
there 's a certain "Mike" — mentioned, he tells 
me, in this very number of St. NICHOLAS — who 
has often discovered our above-named friends, or 
some of their relatives, in numbers that leave the 
gentleman's count far behind. 


The Chinese people are very ingenious, and, I 'm 
told, are exceedingly skillful in dwarfing plants. It 
is said that the Chinese ladies wear in their bosoms 
little dwarf fir-trees which, by a careful system of 
starvation, have been reduced to the size of button- 
hole flowers. These remain fresh and evergreen 
in this dwarfed state for a number of years, and are 
worn by ladies of the highest rank in the Celestial 
Empire as a symbol of eternal love and devotion. 


YES, my dears; and once every week. It is told 
of Lord Holland, an English nobleman of the 
time of William III., that he used to give his 
horses a weekly concert in a covered gallery, built 
specially for the purpose. He maintained that it 
cheered their hearts and improved their tempers, 
and an eye-witness records the fact that " they 
seemed delighted therewith." 

The Little School-ma'am says that Lord Holland 
was regarded as a very eccentric man, but — if all 
accounts are true — it could n't have been because 
of his horse-concerts merely. For I am told that 
there are some horses in America to-day that 
live in stables costing many thousands of dollars, 
and are much better fed, quartered, and served 
than three-fifths of the human population. Having 

J A C K - 1 N- T II E - 1» U L PIT 


every other want supplied, why should human 
beings begrudge them the addition of a weekly 
concert — or any kind of entertainment they may 
fancy ? 

Strange to say, however (and with no offense 
to Lord Holland or anybody else), these facts will 
keep reminding me of a puzzling sentence I heard 
the Deacon quote, one day, from somebody whom 
he called " a wise philosopher." This is the sen- 
tence : " Things are in the saddle and ride man- 
kind." You and I may not quite understand it. 
but it seems to mean a good deal — does n't it? 


New York. 

Dear Jack : I don't wonder that your birds thought those 
" orchid"-flowers you told us about in January were bees. The 
flowers themselves do look very much like bees, I assure you. Sis- 
ter Nell and I saw some of them last summer when we were in 

We have an uncle, though, who says he has seen another orchid 
that is just as funny as the one you showed us in the picture. It is 


called the puppet-orchid, and grows in Mexico. I send you a 
drawing of it which Uncle made for us. He says to tell you that 
" the blossoms, or little flower-sprites, are clothed in yellow caps and 
scarlet aprons, and each one is upheld by a slender, curved stem, 
which causes the pretty elves to hold a ' nid-nid-nodding party,' 
whenever the slightest breeze blows past them." 

Yours truly, Alice M . 


1 'M informed that the managers of the German 
Navy have resolved to employ carrier-pigeons as a 
means of communicating between light-ships and 
light-houses and the shore. It seems that they 
have been testing these fine birds in this business 
during the last few years, and that the feathered 
messengers have done their work like men — or 
better than men. Success to the Government 
bird, says your Jack. 


THE Little School-ma'am asks me to show you 
these sage reflections in verse by a poetical boy, 
who one day after a hearty meal unexpectedly 
found his little conscience full of fish : 


I ate at dinner eggs of shad. 
Cooked shell and all, they are not bad ; 
And yet, somehow, it makes me sad 
To think what fun they might have had 
If they had hatched — a thousand shad. 

but still, I know the Delaware 
Has many others swimming there, 
And these crude fish may be my share. 
If all the. eggs the fish prepare 
Were laid and hatched, I do declare 
There 'd be no water room to spare 
For vessels on the Delaware. 

It 's well all fish are not so large 
As that old one which took in charge 
Poor Jonah in its whalebone jaws, 
Because he did n't mind God's laws; 
Or that great sturgeon, king of fish, 
That came at Hiawatha's wish, — 

And swallowed him and his canoe, 

With Squirrel Adjidaumo, too, 

And kept him there till it he slew 

And sea-gulls pecked the daylight through. 

Dear Mr. Longfellow surely knew 

His fishing story was not true. 

My eyes grow dim and fish-thoughts few; 
To sturgeon, shad, and whale, adieu. 



A QUEER way of employing ants is re- 
ported by an English gentleman, who has 
been traveling through one of the provinces 
of China. It appears that in many parts 
of the province of Canton the orange-trees 
are infested by worms, and to rid them- 
selves of these pests the natives bring ants 
into the orangeries from the neighboring 
hills. The ants are trapped by holding the 
mouth of a lard-bladder to their nests. They are 
then placed among the branches of the orange- 
trees, where they form colonies, and bamboo rods 
are laid from tree to tree to enable the ants to move 
throughout the orangery. 





As the four composition subjects for this month,* we suggest the 

What an Amateur Newspaper should be. 
The Struggles of a School-Monitor. 

Do Dogs or Horses show most Affection for their 
Masters ? 
The Wars of the Roses. 

rode for three days in a carriage, going from Brieg to Andcrmatt, 
stopping at. the Rhone glacier on our way. I never shall forget it. 
. My sister and I walked up to the glacier, with an old guide, and 
saw the cavern where the Rhone comes out. It comes out of a big 
cavern in the ice, first a little stream, then gradually flowing into the 
river. I spent three years abroad, and enjoyed myself very much. 
I hope you will print my letter, as I am very fond of reading the 
St. Nicholas. I have taken lessons on the violin for nearly three 
years. Your affectionate reader, Joseph C, Hoppin. 

In behalf of the poor children of New York, St. Nicholas heartily 
thanks "The Busy Bee Club" of Brooklyn for the following letter, 
and the twelve dollars which the club sent with it as a subscription 
to The Children's Garfield Fund : 

Brooklyn, N. Y., March 17, 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Having seen your notice about The Chil- 
dren's Garfield Fund in the Letter- Box of January St. Nicholas, 
our club determined to get up an entertainment in aid of the same. 
So we had two plays, some music, and recitations, in the parlor of 
Miss Clara Carr {one of our members), on the 2?d of February, 
1883. We charged ten cents admission, and made the sum of twelve 
dollars ($12.00), for which we inclose a check. Please acknowledge 
the receipt of it through St. Nicholas. 

Your constant readers, 

The Busy Bee Club. 
Eleanor Wicks, Pres. Nellie Parker, Secy. 

Carrie Belcher, Treas. 
Members : Clara Carr, Sadie Rhodes, Bessie Rhodes, May Car- 

We acknowledge with thanks, also, another subscription from 
the same city, sent by a correspondent who modestly signs herself 
" Julia," but who incloses one dollar for the Fund. 

For full particulars concerning The Children's Garfield Fund, see 
St. Nicholas for November, 18S1, and July, 1882. 

Dear St. Nicho 
verses that begin — 

Philadelphia, Feb., 1883. 
: Can you tell me who was the author of the 

"There was a little girl, 
And she had a little curl 
Right in the middle of her forehead ; 
And when she was good 
She was very, very good, 
And when she was bad she was horrid?" etc. 

It is thought by some to have been written by Longfellow for the 
amusement of his children. Your constant reader, F. I. G. 

Who will answer this question ? 

Dear St. Nicholas: I want Papa to say that I am a little girl 
who never had St. Nicholas before this one, and I think it elegant. 
I am often very bad, but I will keep good now, and Papa will buy 
me St. Nicholas every month. He helped me some to make out 
the puzzles, but I will soon be clever enough to do it all alone. 

Your new friend, 

(P. S. — Dear St. Nicholas: If this inducement succeeds, it u ill 
be the first that has been able to restrain a temper certainly not got- 
ten by example from "Papa.") 

We print the above letter and postscript just as they came to us, 
omitting only the name, place, and date. But we hope to receive 
another letter by and by, stating that the "inducement " has "suc- 
ceeded" in enabling our new little friend to "keep good" all the 

Providence, R. I., Feb., 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I was very much pleased, upon looking 
over one of our old St. Nicholases, to find an account of the Swiss 
glaciers in the November number for 1880. It was doubly interest- 
ing to me from the fact that I have seen those very glaciers. We 

* See St. Nicholas for October and January. 

Jeffersonville, Ind., March 5, 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I commenced taking St. Nicholas when 
I was seven years old, and now I am eleven. I have seven volumes, 
bound in red and gold, with my name on them, and I read them over 
and over a great many times. We have had a great flood here, and 
8000 people were without homes. \i it had nut been for the kind 
people everywhere, sending us food and clothes and money, many 
would have died. At the cottage in which I was born the water 
was ten feet deep, and I went skiff-riding over the fences, trees, and 
tree-boxes, right up to the top of the door, and we could have gone 
in through the upper sash of the window. The house in which we 
live stands on a bluff forty feet high, on the bank of the Ohio River, 
and I saw thirteen houses drift down the river one day. In one 
house there were four persons : a man, his wife, and two children ; 
they were waving a white cloth, and the life-savers came to their 
rescue. A little cradle went by with a little blue-eyed boy-baby in 
it, and went on down the river, and some one caught it and is keep- 
ing it until called for. I expect its parents are drowned, as it is 
there yet. We are all very poor now, but we are so glad to be alive 
and well, that we do not mind it much. A. C. W. 

T, Hampton. — No conditions are imposed upon those who wish 

to send answers to puzzles. 

San Francisco, March 1, 1883. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you for a good many 
years now, and I think I have the privilege of an old correspondent, 
of making a few remarks on the production of Mary Lizzie Spear, in 
your March number for 18S3. I don't think Miss Spear gives the 
Eastern children a correct idea of the California boys, or of their 
ingenuity, in saying that "none of them knew how to go about 
making a sled," for they use them here — of course, not as they do in 
the snow countries, but surely enough so as to know how to make 
one, they being such simple things. They are used very often here 
for a sport quite well known, namely: A number of boys make a 
sled, and after getting a long rope, wait in the road for a wagon to 
come along. Seeing one, they rush forward and slip it (the rope) 
around anything convenient in the back part of the wagon, so get- 
ting a ride. 

And as you must know from the newspapers, St. Nicholas, the 
weather during the latter part of December was so cold here that it 
was said that, if this was a snow country, the signal service would 
have predicted a snow-storm. Therefore, you Easterners must not 
imagine that we had mild weather before the storm; and I think 
that the party must have had a rather cold day on that shore, which 
is never too warm. Hoping to see the judgment of the California 
members of St. Nicholas as to which is the more correct of these 
two letters concerning California and Californian children, I remain, 
Yours sincerely, A. H. S. 

In connection with the "Art and Artists" installment for this 
month, we present the following list of the principal works of Anton 
Vandyck to be seen in European galleries : Pitti Palace, Flor- 
ence: Portraits of Cardinal Bentivaglio, and of Charles I. and Hen- 
rietta Maria. Uffizi Gallery, Florence : Equestrian portrait of 
Charles V., portrait of John Montfort. The Brera, Milan: 
" Madonna and St. Anthony." Capitol Museum, Rome: "An 
Entombment." Pinacoteca, Turin: Three children of Charles 
I., "Holy Family," an equestrian portrait. Museum, Antwerp: 
"Descent from the Cross," " The Entombment," a portrait. Mu- 
seum, Brussels : "Crucifixion" of St. Peter," "A Satyr," portrait 
of Alexandre de la Faille. Museum of the Trippenhuis, Am- 
sterdam: Two children of Charles I. Museum, Berlin : Seven 
pictures, including four portraits, "The Mocking of Christ," and 
the " Descent of the Holy Ghost." Gallery, Cassel : Four fine 




portraits. Dresden Gallery : Ten portraits, and a St. Jerome. 
Pinacothek, Munich: Twelve pictures, ten portraits, and two 
pictures of the Pieta. The Belvedere, Vienna: Nine pictures, 
four portraits, two Madonnas, "Venus and Vulcan," " Samson and 
Delilah," " Holy Family," and a Magdalen. Royal Museum, Mad- 
rid: Nine portraits, " The Crowning with Thorns," and the " Be- 
trayal of Christ." Louvre, Paris: Thirteen portraits, " Renaud 
and Armid," "St. Sebastian," "Dead Christ," and two Madon- 
nas. Gallery at Hampton Court: "Samson and Delilah," 
and two portraits. National Gallery, London; "Miraculous 
Draught of Fishes," a study, and a portrait of Vandyck. The 
Hermitage, St. Petersburg: Twenty-one portraits, "Naked 
Boys Blowing Bubbles," "Holy Family," "Incredulity of St. 
Thomas," and " Martyrdom of St. Sebastian." 

Goldsboro, North Carolina. 
Dear St. Nicholas: My sister has taken you since the second 
year you were published, but this year I take you in place of my 
sister. I think you are lovely, and every month I await you anx- 
iously. My mother and I are traveling through the South this win- 
ter, and some of the things I see are so funny. My uncle has a 
very clever setter dog, which can do a great many tricks. When I 
was at school, he always appeared at the school at a quarter of twelve 
to take my books home. I hope you will print this in your Letter- 
Box, and oblige your constant reader, Edith C. 

A True Story About a Cow. 

I was going to our barn one day to get the ax. I had to jump 
a fence. Now Dolley, the cow, was shut up inside of this fence. I 
am very much afraid of her, because she likes to hook. So I stood 
up and looked about me to see where she was. I noticed that the 
barn door stood open. It was a very big sliding door. There were 
two of them, and they met in the middle. Two large barrels of bran 
were in the barn, uncovered. Now our hired man, Sam, was very 
careful to keep the door shut, because cows will eat bran or mid- 
dling until they burst themselves. I had left the door shut except 
one inch, but while I was gone Dolley was wise enough to push her 
horn through into the crack, and open it enough to put her head in, 
then her body, and last of all her tail. Then she walked straight 
to the bran, and began to eat as fast as she could. The minute I saw 
her in the barn I called Sam, and in two minutes up came Sam, all 
out of breath from running so fast. I told him what had happened, 
and he rushed in and drove her out, and locked the door and went 
away. P. G. W. (a little boy eleven years old). 

The gentlemen who have thus freely offered their aid can hardly 
realize how great a service they are rendering. Think of it! Here 
are over 5000 young and older amateur naturalisLs belonging to our 
society, most of whom, living in remote towns, have few opportu- 
nities of instruction in the subjects of their choice. They are now 
placed in such a position that they can go right on with their obser- 
vations without leaving home; can be advised as to the best books 
for consultation in their several departments ; can exchange speci- 
mens and thoughts with members in all the different States and 
Territories ; and can have the assistance of men trained in special de- 
partments of science, and all without expense. May not the A. A. 
be the means of solving one of the most perplexing educational 
questions of the day? Who knows but we may yet offer regular 
courses of reading and study in the several departments, followed by 
examinations, and the presentation of certificates ? 

That our members are not slow to appreciate the increased advan- 
tages the A. A. offers them, is proved by the more earnest and en- 
couraging tone of our Chapter reports, as well as by the large list of 
new branches which follows: 

New Chapters. 





Name. Mt 

Perth Amboy, N. J. (A) . .. 

Decorah, Iowa. (A) . . 

Greeley, Col. (A) 

La Porte, Ind. (B) 

New York, N. Y. (L) 

St. Paul, Minn. (C) 

Dorchester, Mass. (A) 

Kinmundy, 111. (A) 

Terre Haute, Ind. (A) 

Grand Rapids, Dakota. (A) 

Dallas, Texas. (A) 

M'eadville, Pa. (A) 

Northampton, Mass. (B)... 
Toronto, Ont. (A) 

Burlington, N. J. (B) 

Somerville, Mass. (A) 

439 Wilmington, Del. (B) . 

440 Keene, N. H. (A) 

441 Valparaiso, Chili. (A). 

442 Waldoboro, Me. (A) . . 

443 Brunswick, Me. (A) . . 

iribers. Secretary s Address. 

16. .Bertha Mitchell. 

5..W. E. Clifford. 

9 . . Louis L. Haynes. 

4. .Leo B. Austin. 
4..Cbas. H. Broas, "Tremont." 
6, .Philip C. Allen, 5 Laurel ave. 
9.. Miriam Badlam, 15 Columbia 


5. .Bertie Squire. 
Jacob Greiner, 432 N. Center. 
Jesse French. 
.David C. Hinckley. 
. Lawrence Streit. 
. H. L. Halliard, box 756. 
.Robert Holmes, 273 Bathurst 

. Natalie McNeal. 
. Harry E. Sears, cor. Medford 
and Chester sts. 
.Percy C. Pyle, 417 Washing- 
ton street. 
.F. H. Foster, box 301. 
. W. Sabina. 
.Thomas Brown. 
. E. B. Young. 


We have renewed cause for gratitude this month in the kind offers 
of help which come to us from several well-known specialists. The 
first two are for our botanists : 

"If your correspondents desire the names of any ferns, grasses, 
or plants in general, or any information on the subject of botany, I 
shall be glad to answer all such, or at least all that come from west 
of the Mississippi. 1 realize the value of such work as you are 
doing. Marcus E. Jones, Salt Lake City, Utah." 

" Noticing your call for the aid of specialists, I briefly offer my serv- 
' ices in the following directions: 1. General botanical items of in- 
terest. 2. Classification of all flowering plants and vascular crypto- 
gams (ferns, etc.), found on the North American continent and in 
Germany; also their life histories, etc. 3. Gasteromycetes (puff- 
balls) of the world. 4. Spiders of the U. S. 5. Mammals of the 
U. S. Aug. F. Foerste, Dayton, Ohio." 

" If I can serve the cause mineralogically, call on me. 

"David Allan, Box 113, Webster Groves, Missouri." 

"I should be glad to assist the A. A. in any matter relating to 
marine zoology. 

"C. F. Holder, American Museum Nat, Hist., 
" Central Park (77th st. and 8th ave.), New York, N. Y." 

" I have watched, with more interest than I can readily communi- 
cate, the genesis and development of the A. A. In answer to your 
call for assistance, I shall be most happy to identify minerals and the 
commoner forms of paleozoic fossils. 

"Wm. M. Bowron, South Pittsburg, Tenn." 

"Academy Natural Sciences, of Philadelphia, 
" 19th and Race streets, March 1, 1883. 
" Having seen your call, in St. Nicholas of this month, for 
assistance in answering the many questions brought forward by the 
members of the A. A.. I take'pleasure in offering my aid. My 
specialties are entomology and conchology. With earnest desire for 
the success of the society, G. Howard Parker." 

Requests for Exchange. 

Leaves, flowers, and seed of Chinese tea. — Alfred Stoehr, Cincin- 
nati, O., 99 East Liberty st. 

Eggs. — Fred Russell, 38 Concord St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Orange blossoms and mistletoe.— F. C. Sawyer, Beauclerc, Fla. 

Agates, Florida moss, minerals, etc. — Maude M. Lord, 75 Lam- 
berton st., New Haven, Conn. 

Labels for specimens. — H. M. Downs, box 176, Rutland, Vt. 

Copper ore, manganese ore, and other minerals. — K. M. Fowler, 
Sweetland, Cal. 

After April 1st, silk-worm eggs. — Box 14, Beverly, N. J. 

Sea-urchins, star-fish, minerals, for ocean curiosities, and fossils. — 
E. C. Shaw, 60 Locust st. , Toledo, O. 

Cocoons, Attacus cecroftia, for minerals, corals, etc. — Walter M. 
Patterson, 1010 West Van Buren St., Chicago, 111. 

Minerals, for bugs ; lead and silver ore, for tin and zinc. — E. P. 
Boynton, Cedar Rapids, Iowa. 

Minerals, petrified wood, and shells, for fossils and sea-mosses. — 
D. G. Hinckley, 1435 Elm St., Dallas, Texas. 

Birds' eggs, minerals, etc. — Frank W. Wentworth, 1337 Michigan 
ave., Chicago, 111. 

Coral and ocean shells. — Lemuel A. Wells, Newington, Conn. 

1. What is the most common bird in America? 2. What is the 
largest known glacier in the world? 3. What makes the " fire " in 
opals? 4. How many minerals in the LI. S. whose names end in 
"ite"? — Chicago F. 

Plumbago and rose quartz from N. H. — Louis Ager, 295 Carlton 
ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Minerals. — Joseph Stiles, Belmont, Nev. 

Two cocoons, Attacies cccrapia, and two fossil sfttrijers. — Ira 
Larned, Dearborn st. , Chicago. 

Capper ore, feldspar, and other minerals and shells, for trap-door 
spiders' nests, fossils, etc. — Thomas Brown, box 55, Waldoboro, Me. 

Three olive shells for natural curiosities, except birds' eggs. — Willie 
D. Grier, 590 Tremont St., Boston, Mass. 

Lingulas and minerals. — Alvin S. Wheeler, Dubuque, Iowa. 

Minerals. — G. H. Chittenden, Washington St., Dorchester, Bos- 
ton, Mass. 




Reports From Chapters. 

The mass of reports has so accumulated that we must be content 
to glance very rapidly at them. 

No. 158 is re-organized. — 219 has collected 70 cocoons, and a few 
winter birds, such as pine grosbeak, and has spent most of its time 
in arranging and labeling previously collected specimens. — 352, Am- 
herst, Mass., numbers 20, and not one has dropped. Three of the 
members have seen hair-snakes come from the side of the body of a 
cricket. — The President of 382 gives blackboard notes on entomol- 
ogy at each meeting, which are copied by the members, and at each 
meeting, also, some interesting extract is read aloud, such as a story 
about Robert Dick or Hugh Miller, or one of the parables from na- 
ture. — Berwyn, Pa., numbers 14 active and 2 honorary. Prizes 
have been offered in the Chapter for best collections of insects, with 
excellent results. At each meeting the President has named one 
mineral to be the subject for the following meeting. During the week 
all the members studied the subject, and were prepared for a thor- 
ough discussion. Among the questions that have been asked are: 
Why is frost formed on the inside of window-panes? Difference be- 
tween igneous and aqueous rocks? What distinguishing peculiarity 
of quartz crystal apart from its shape ? (Ans. The stria; on its lat- 
eral faces.) What are Plutonic rocks? What are mineral earths? 
Have birds the sense of taste? What is bog iron ore? [See Cros- 
by's " Common Minerals."] John F. Glosser, Sec. — 390, Chester, 
Mass., has 32 members, and posts weekly printed notices of its meet- 
ings. A peculiarly interesting Chapter has been formed at Valparai- 
so, Chili. The first in South America since Cordoba moved North. 
Its members are Nos. 5000 to 5007 of the A. A. ! — Chicago F, 229, 
has elaborate letter-heads and envelopes. " Each member has two 
insect-nets, and a little kit, with chloroform, etc., for insect hunting." 

— The new Secretary of 188, Newport A, is F. Eurdick, P. O. box 
614. — Chapter 366, Webster Graves, Mo., has flourished upon igno- 
rant local opposition, and has increased in numbers from 39 to 65. 
— 364 asks about arrow-heads, etc. These, and coins, stamps, etc., 
are not recognized by the A. A. — Cedar Rapids, Iowa, has found 
seven different kinds of scales on butterflies' wings. [Why not send 
pictures of them?] — 170, Brookfield, Mass., celebrated its anniver- 
sary by a special meeting, with essays, etc. ; 14 members. — 285, Du- 
buque, Iowa, is getting on exceedingly well ; has purchased a nice 
cabinet, and is studying geology. 

There is to be a general reunion of all Chicago Chapters on Agas- 
siz's birthday, May 28. — Chicago G is very active, and intends to 
"canvass the country round and secure a collection of all the min- 
erals of Chicago." — Cedar Rapids B has learned the branches and 
classes of the animal kingdom, and has debated with C, its sister 
Chapter, the interesting question, whether Arachnida should be 
classed under the Insccia. Pro: A. S. Packard, Jr., W. E. Wilson, 
Sanborn Tenney. Contra: J. G. Wood and Webster's Dictionary. 
[We wish to hear from the A. A. generally on this question.] It is 
asked whether a corresponding member of the A. A. can also be 
a member of a Chapter. [Certainly, and vice versa.] Does the sap 
in trees ever freeze ? What is it that we see above and around a hot 
stove? Has a mole eyes? [Yes.] Can insects hear? — The interest 
of Neillsville, Wis., "grows daily," and its visible growth is seen in 
a handsome black-walnut case for the butterflies collected last year. 

— 261, East Boston, has 26 members. "At our next meeting we are 
to hear several sketches of the lives of great naturalists." — 303 has 
earned a dagger in the hand-book by deceasing ; but its wide-awake 
Secretary remains a corresponding member. — North Adams, Mass., 
has a new Secretary, Miss Lulu Radio. Collections are to be made of 
minerals, insects, and plants. — Sag Harbor, N.Y., is "flourishing " ; 
has increased to 20 regular and 6 honorary members, and has for ex- 
change micaceous quartz, silver ore, olive and ebony wood, and 
skates' egg cases. — Bryan, O., is having "splendid" meetings; col- 
lecting scraps for ascrap-book, and making excursions. — The mem- 
bers of Chicago E, 153, " go in a body once a fortnight to the Academy 
of Science. There the President distributes cards containing the 
names of birds and mammals common here. Each then goes to the 
cases and finds some bird named on his list, and studies it. When 
we think we can describe the birds we have selected, we assemble, 
and are called on in turn to give a description of the chosen bird, but 
without telling its name. If the members can not tell from the de- 
scription what the bird's name is, the describer tells it himself. After 
all are done, the President reads the list, bidding each one to speak 
when the name of a bird is read that he does not know. The descrip- 
tions are kept in note-books. "— Altoona, Pa., has 15 members and a 
fine cabinet, and promises some fossils for our general A. A. cabinet, 
for which our thanks, we trust, will soon be due. [By the way, 
members of the A. A- can greatly help us in our work if they will 
now and then send for the Central A. A. Museum's labeled speci- 
mens in their several departments. Chapter No. 1, Lenox, is having 
cases made and a room furnished for this purpose, and we hope to 
build up a museum which shall worthily represent the Association. 
All specimens should have the name of the donor attached. Each 
Chapter should be represented on our shelves, as many of them al- 
readyare.j — Belprc, O., writes: " Some of the folks take an interest 
in us, and others make fun of us, but I notice they are very anxious 
to know what we arc doing." — Scituate, Mass., has 29 members. — 
Taunton, Mass., 93; has over 800 specimens, and Pine City, Minn, 
(lately formed), has 244 varieties of insects— Buffalo B, always one 
of our best Chapters, sends a report so long and full of interest that 

it would not be altogether a bad plan to print it entire, for our gen- 
eral report, if there were not 432 other Chapters. Buffalo B is anx- 
ious for a general representative meeting of the A. A. next summer, 
or "some time." — 106 has been re-organized. — Beverly, N. J., has 
made large and valuable additions to its cabinet. "The way we do 
is this: every week we have essays on some such subject as geology. 
The first paper names the orders, and mentions some examples of 
each. The other papers describe the specific examples." — Erlanger, 
Ky . , has found the head of a trilobite measuring 2 by 2 l < inches, and 
is preparing an herbarium.— The address of 311, omitted from St. 
Nicholas, is San Juan, Col., Mrs. J. L. Brewster, Secretary, 5 mem- 
bers. — 353, Philadelphia K, has 26 volumes as a nucleus for a library. 
— San Francisco 321 is "getting on" splendidly, and desires a 
book giving names and pictures of eggs. — Amherst, Mass., desires 
correspondence. Address H. L. Clarke, Providence, R. I., Sec. 


(1) Spider. — I found what seemed to be a brown spider. It meas- 
ured 1I2 inches from the extremities of its legs. Its body was entirely 
covered with little spiders. Next morning it was dead. The little 
spiders, at least 50, were swarming on the glass. I had read that 
spiders' eggs are laid in a cocoon. Hiram N. Bice, Utica, N. Y. 

(2) Rabbit ami Weasel.— & little white weasel was observed to 
drag the body of a large rabbit for sixty rods, over many obstacles. 
When twigs hindered, its sharp white teeth removed them. 

E. B., South Gardiner, Mass. 

(3) Birds. — I feed many birds from the cupola of our house, and 
they have grown so tame that one dear little fellow eats from my hand. 

B. Kellogg, Detroit, Mich. 

(4) Electricity. — This winter every metal thing in our house gives 
electric sparks. The largest come from the steam-radiators. I have 
conducted the electricity from bells and gas-jets along a wire. Can 
any one explain it? Willie Sheraton, Toronto, Canada. 

(5) Pollen. — The grain of heartsease seems to be a prism. A. B. 

(6) Wingless Moths. — Some of my caterpillars left their cocoons 
Nov. t, 1882, and had no wings. They soon died. I do not under- 
stand it. Wilmington, Del. 

(7) Snakes, Fly-catcltcr. — For a month I have fed my pet snakes 
nothing, but they seem as lively as ever. I saw one of my large rat- 
tlesnakes shed its skin. It accomplished this by drawing its body 
around rough stones in the bottom of the case. I have noticed that 
nine times out of ten the nest of the great Custer fly-catcher contains 
two of three snake-skins I heard of one who, unable to find them, 
substituted onion skins. Jas. de B. Abbot. 

(8) Polyphemus Ceeropia. — I have found the larva: of polyphemus 
on hard and soft maple, white birch, and elm. I have found cecropia 
on white birch and syringa. E. H. Pierce, Auburn, N. Y. 

(9) Spider. — While I was watching aspider, it started out horizon- 
tally into the air, with no web in front of it. It went a few feet and 
stopped, keeping up a nimble movement with its feet. Presently it 
started again, went some 20 feet, stopped again, and then again went 
on till out of sight. How does it sustain and how propel itself? 

Zoa Goodwin. 

(10) Smallest Flower. — The smallest- flower in the world is Semna 
PolyrrJiiza. E. D. Lowell, Jackson, Mich. 

(it) Albino Squirrels. — I have two snow-white squirrels with pink 
eyes. They were taken from a gray squirrel's nest. Why are they 
white? A. W. Boardman, Meriden. Conn. 

(12) Hornet's N est — Geneva's challenge is accepted. Ihaveahor- 
net's nest that measures from crown to tip 27 inches, and in circum- 
ference 42 inches. It was cut from an apple-branch at Busdeton, 
Philadelphia. T. C- Pearson. 

(13) Hair-snakes. — I have taken hair-snakes from crickets. 

H. L. Clarke. 

(14) Snow-fleas.— On January 31, 1883, I observed thousands of 
snow-fleas on the unfrozen surface of a pond. H. L. Clarke, 

A change of Secretary in a Chapter csuses so much confusion that 
we strongly urge each Chapter to take a P. O. box which may be 
the Chapter's permanent address. Since the publication of the A. A. 
Hand-book, the first edition of which is nearly exhausted, the num- 
ber of Chapters has nearly doubled; and the question of a second 
edition, revised, containing addresses of all Chapters and other new 
matter, must soon be decided. We should like to hear from the As- 
sociation regarding the matter. Eefore writing to the President, 
members should recall the conditions of correspondence given in 
previous reports. In particular, write requests for exchange on sep- 
arate slips of paper. It will be an additional assistance if Notes on 
Natural History (which we propose hereafter to number for conven- 
ient reference) be written on separate slips, and not in the mid- 
dle of Chapter reports. Owing to the pressure on our columns, re- 
ports must appear substantially in the form shown in this number of 
St. Nicholas, and the nearer to this form they are when they reach 
us, the less labor will be required to prepare them for print. 

All communications, including reports heretofore sent to Mr. Glos- 
ser, must be addressed to Harlan H, Ballard, 

Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 





The answer to the accompany- 
ing illustration is a familiar pro- 


I. Across: i. A bird. 2. A 
swarm of bees. 3. A pool or 
lake. 4. An epithet. Down- 
ward : 1. In riddle. 2. An ex- 
clamation. 3. Vigor. 4. Smooth. 
5. Epoch. 6. A printer's meas- 
ure. 7. In riddle. 

II. Across : 1. To stagger. 

2. To distribute. 3. A ferocious 
animal. 4. An apartment. Down- 
ward : 1. In numerical. 2. A 
boy's nickname. 3. A snake- 
like fish. 4. The bed of a wild 
beast. 5. Three-fourths of a word 
meaning to observe. 6. A word 
of denial. 7. In numerical. 

"novice," and "c. d." 


The syncopated letters, placed 
in the order here given, will spell 
one of the United States. 

1. Syncopate a drain, and leave 
a prophet. 2. Syncopate the 
understanding, and leave the 
propercoat of the seed of wheat. 

3. Syncopate a proper amount 
of medicine, and leave a deer. 

4. Syncopate to chide, and leave 
bartered. 5. Syncopate a ma- 
rine conveyance, and leave an 
animal. 6. Syncopate to weave, 
and leave a wooden tub. 7. Syn- 
copate a substance which exudes 
from certain trees, and leave to 
govern by a bridle. 8. Synco- 
pate suffering, and leave the god 
of shepherds. 9. Syncopate a 
sound, and leave part of the foot. 



My primals name an article 
important at an annual festival ; 
my finals name what is worn by 
the principal personage at the 

Cross-words: i. Deriding. 
2. A country of Asia. 3. A 
measure of time. 4. A loud and 
prolonged sound. 5. A chief of the Seminole Indians who died in 
Fort Moultrie in 183S. 6. Gaunt. 7. A species of antelope found 
in South Africa. "ariana moore." 


Het norib, teh nefurneror fo eht rispgn, 

Het ludibreb, hitw sit judnoc logincar, 

Het seltsres slowslaw dubingU ni eth vaese, 

Het dolneg recttubsup, het sargs, eth valees, 

Het sallic sotsing ni hte sniwd fo ayM, 

Lai clomewe hist jamstice iholady. j. a. C. 


I AM composed of sixty-one letters, and am a verse from the Book 
of Psalms. 

My 58-6-14-19 is the muse who presides over history. My 
41-13-29-37-50-24 is the son and trumpeter of Neptune. My 
1-27-2-53-30 is a fabled personage, who is represented as bearing 

the world upon his shoulders. My 61-45-12-40-10 is the goddess 
who presides over hunting. My 42-18-36-46-20-6-60-21 is the son 
of Jupiter, celebrated for his great strength. My 56-50-44-59 is 
what he had to do. My 34-9-19-5-28 was the god of eloquence 
among the ancient Egyptians. My 31-39-58-46-47-26-54-4-35 is a 
priestess of Bacchus. My 33-16-23-2-3-39 is the muse who presides 
over comedy. My 51-26-8-32-49 were three goddesses who pre- 
sided over human destinies. My 17-25-48-31-7-30 was the capitol 
of Bceotia. My 38-50-22-43-36 was the greatest poet of Greece. 
My 1-43-15-57-49 was the shield given by Jupiter to Minerva. My 
52-55-1 1-16-19-6-50-15-55 is the science treating of myths. 

M. T, 2. 


In my first, when gay flowers were blooming, 

Forth with my second I went, 
Admiring the pleasant landscape, 

Inhaling the fragrant scent. 
Soon we came where a stately mansion 

Grew under the builder's art ; 
There my whole at his toil we discovered, 

Contentedly doing his part, w. h. a. 


Example : Take a small boy from an illness, and leave a month of 
blossoms. Answer: Ma-lad-y. 

1. Take an epic poem of the Spaniards from to determine, and 
leave a river of Scotland. 2. Take to gain from wound around, and 
leave a boy's nickname. 3. Take inside from a dearth, and leave 
celebrity. 4. Take hostility from recompense, and leave a color. 5. 
Take a kind of engraving from straining, and leave a cord. 6. Take 
a part of the head from closest, and leave a home for birds. 7. Take 
one of the measures from pertaining, and leave a creature. 8. Take 
a tiny portion from restricted, and leave a cover. 9. Take a visit 
from brought back, and leave a marsh grass. 10. Take a conjunc- 
tion from remote, and leave to pretend. n. Take frigid from 
upbraiding, and leave to warble. 12. Take a well-known game from 
the price paid for the conveyance of a letter, and leave to place in 



Fig. I. Fig. II. 

4 ! 6 


+ 9 5 

6 ! 7 . 8 

Cut out of paper or card-board nine small squares numbered and 
placed as in Fig. I. In sixteen moves arrange the blocks as they 
appear in Fig. II., without taking out any, except removing the 
"one" block when beginning and replacing it when finished. In 
sending solutions, indicate the process in this way: 2 left, 5 up, 
6 right, 3 down, etc., etc. e. z. c 


3. To 

I. Upper Square: i. A luminous body. 2. A weed that ; 
among wheat. 3. Sciences. 4. Repose. 

II. Left-hand Square: i. A couple. 2. An abbot. 
bird highly venerated by the ancient Egyptians. 4. Repose. 

III. Central Square: i. Repose. 2. A girl's name, 
disgrace. 4. A weed that grows among wheat. 

IV. Right-hand Square: i. A weed that grows among wheat. 
2. An entrance or passage. 3. A French word meaning " nothing." 
4. A famous volcano. 

V. Lower Square: i. A weed that grows among wheat. 2. 
Sour. 3. To be conveyed. 4. A delightful region. 





FAN PI 7.7,L,E. 

if fef*1%4i 

There are in this puzzle VS* twelve words, each containing, 
seven letters. From 14 to 10 2, to lap over; from 15 to 3, to 
effuse ; from 16 to 4, to note w carefully ; from 17 to 5, to step 

beyond; from 18 to 6, a sea-port town of Italy ; from 19 to 7, pertain- 
ing to the Empire of Turkey; from 20 to 8, without study or prep- 

aration; from 21 to g, gross injury; from 22 to 10, one who holds 
an office; from 23 to 11, the wife of Mark Antony; from 24 to 12, a 
station at a distance from the main body of an army; from 25 to 13 
an affront. 

The row of figures from 14 to 25 all represent the same letter. The 
row of figures from 2 to 13 represent letters which spell a word mean- 
ing to overpower by weight. "giclamfs." 


My first is in September ; my second in April ; my third in May ; 
my fourth in December; my fifth in March; my sixth in July. My 

whole is a gala day coming in the spring. f. dustin. 


When rightly arranged, the following words will form a well 
known stanza of six lines by William Collins. All the capitals used 
in the original verse are retained in the pi. 

When hallowed Spring Returns with sweeter wishes Than ever 
cold dewy fingers to sink Fancy's sod How shall She have the coun- 
try's mould there to dress their rest their brave sleep who trod a deck 
By all feet blest. hattie l. 


1. In Michigan. 2. A projecting part of a wheel. 3. An animal 
without horns. 4. A beautiful white flower. 5. A kind of fruit. 
6. One-half of a word meaning to delay. 7. In Michigan. 



Illustrated Puzzle. Silhouette. 1. Hut. 2. Teeth. 3. List. 

4. Thistle. 5. Son. 7. House. 8. Oil. 9. Islet. 10. Tiles. 11. 
Sheet. 12. Hoe. 13. Toilet. 14. Tie. 15. Lute. 16. Hole. 17. 
Suit. 18. Slit. 19. Stile. 20. Title. 21. Hilt. 22. Stilt. 23. 
Sole. 24. Heel. 25. Sol. 26. Hose. 27. Shoe. 28. Toes. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, Charles ; finals, Dickens. Cross- 
words : 1. CheereD. 2. Hoi (den). 3. Adriatic. 4. R00K. 

5. LucrativE. 6. EntertaiN. 7. SaluteS. 

Reversible Words, i. Now — won. 2. Reward — drawer. 

Riddle. Guilt — gilt. 

Geographical Puzzle" i. Negro. 2. Thomas. 3. Guinea. 
4. Shanghai. 5. Bantams. 6. Thomas. 7. Fear. 8. Sable. 9. 
Ada. 10. Morgan. n. Sunflower. 12. Carroll. 13. Hart. 14. 
Great Bear. 15. Buffalo. 16. Bullock. 17. Hungary. 18. Cook. 
19, Ada. 20. Nubia. 21. Afghan. 22. Rice. 23. Salmon. 24. 
Turkey. 25. China. 26. Orange. 27. Malaga. 28. Brazil. 29. 

Novel Acrostic. Longfellow, Evangeline. Cross-words: 1. 
LeEward. 2. ObVious. 3. NeAiest. 4. GeNesis. 5. FaGging. 

6. EmErald. 7. LuLlaby. 8. Leisure. 9. OmNibus. 10. 

Nine Diamonds. 
4. Yea. 5. R. II. 

Top Row: I. 1. R. 2. Ray. 3. Raker. 
1. R. 2. Rap. 3. Razor. 4. Pot. 5. R. 
III. 1. R. 2. Ril (I). 3. River. 4. Lee. 5. R. Middle Row: 
I. 1. R. 2. Top. 3. Rover. 4. Pen. 5. R. II. 1. R. 2. 
Tub. 3. Ruler. 4. Beg. 5. R. III. 1. R. 2. Tie. 3. Rider. 
4. Eel. 5. R. Bottom Row: I. 1. R. 2. Car. 3. Racer. 4. 
Red. . 5. R. II. 1. R. 2. Lap. 3. Rarer. 4. Pet. 5. R. 
III. 1. R. 2. Fop. 3. Rower. 4. Peg. 5. R. 
Proverb Rebus. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
Pi. Every tear is answered by a blossom, 

Every sigh with songs and laughter blent, 
Apple-blooms upon the breezes toss them, 
April knows her own, and is content. 

Susan Coolidge in April. 
Numerical Enigma. 

A day in April never came so sweet 

To show how costly summer was at hand. 

Merchafit of J'em'ce, Act II., Scene 9. 
Concealed Word-square, i. Event. 2. Valor. 3. Elate. 

4. Notes. 5. Tress. Charade. Cargo. 

Two Cross-word Enigmas. I. Spain. 2. Riddle. 

Answers to February Puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the April number, from George B. Carter, 1 — 
Sonora, 3 — W. Rigby, Manchester, England, 1 — George Smith Hayter. Highgate, London, 10. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from "Aunt Arabella" — H. F. 
Davis — Cuchee Smith — Florence G. Lane — The Houghton Family — S. R. T. — Clara Franc and Co. — Arthur Gride — K. M. B. — 
Professor and Co. — " Alcibiades " — Fannie, Sadie, Fanny, and Carrie — Belle Bartholomew — " Charles" — Olive M. Allen — "Two Sub- 
scribers " — Pinnie and Jack — Paul Reese — Amy G. Torrance — Helen Peirce — C. and Wm. V. Moses — Marna and Bae — Sam Pell — 
Marie, Annie, Mamma and Papa — "Town and Country " — Helen F. Turner — Clara J. Child — Francis W. Islip — D. B. Shumway — 
Appleton H. — Sallie Viles — Katie Schoonmaker — The Martins — Lillie C. Lippert — John W. Reynolds — Lottie A. Best — Carey 
Melville — Grace Eddington and Mrs. B. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from Adrienne M. Duysters, 1 — Andrew L. Riker, 
4 — Philip Embury, Jr., 9 — L. Fleetwood, 1 — C. R. Williams, 1 — R. Parker, r — Dorsey Schenck, 1 — N. Holly, 1 — Maud Houghton, 
1 — Wilson Brainard, 2 — Mav Pierson, 1 — B. C. Boulton, 1 — D. N. Babbitt, 1 — Helen L. Towne, 1 — May Rogers, 1 — A. M. Hill, 1 

— MyraL. Clark, 4— S. W. Thurber, 1— G. Cornett. 1— Ella Shaw. 5 — B. and L. Veiller, 1 — F. T. Vernon, 1 — F. R. Gadd, 1 — L. 
C. Estabrook, 1 — Ruth D. and Sam'l H. Camp, 7 — G. M. Hall, 1 — J. C. Bunell, 1 — Julia Gates, 1 — Carl Niemeyer, 5 — C. Robinson, 
1 — Oulagiskit, 6 — Samuel M. Leiper, 5 — Geo. T. Parkes, 1 — Arthur, 1 — G. B. Jr., 1 — Roy Guion, 6 — E. E. Neff, 2 — H. Ries, 1 — 
Severance Burrage, 10 — A. Blanche B., 2 — N. Morganstern, 1 — King Arthur, 1 — G. Cosgrave, 1 — Tiksigaluo, 9 — M. S. S. F. Club, 
1 — L. Wardell, 1 — Charley Weymouth, 6 — A. B. Hall, 1 — R. Stone, 1 — Harry B. Sparks, 8 — Julia B. Arnwine, 1 — Ethel, 1 — Mona 
Downs, 1 — Ralph S. Whiting, 1 — G. F. Blandy, 1 — N. B. Gisburne, 1 — W. A. Bearmore, 1 — Clarence A. Cobleigh, 12 — Anna L. 
Minich, 2 — Wm. Koehnle, 12 — Chas. Westcott, "12 — Calla, 4— G. Butts, 1— E. Polemann, 1 — G. H. Williams, 1 — J. W. Preston, Jr., 
9 — L. Oates, 1 — E. T., 1 — Alice P. Pendleton, 11 — Edith and Geneva, n — Willie Trautwine, 6 — Effie K. Taiboys, 11 — Mary C. 
Burnam, 6 — Kendall Family, 1 — Rosy and Posy, 1 — S. Bessie Saunders and Mamma, 6 — Wallace K. Gaylord, 6 — G. Austin, 2 — 
Nellie Taylor, 2 — Star, ? — Nellie and Mamie, 6 — Xenophon, 8 — Vin and Henry, 10 — Mary Livingston, 1 — Elbe S. Vail, 2 — C. M. 
Philo, 1 — Trail, n— W. T. H., 1 — Daisy and Dandelion, 4 — T. Haynes, 1— W. R. Hamilton, 2 — Hessie D. Boylston, 9 — W. 
Kinsey, 1 — N. Duff, 1 — G. Lineburgh, 1 — L. I., n — "Judge Jag," 11 — The McK.'s, 6 — Harry R. Wicks, 6 — F. Andreas, 1 — 
Clarence H. Woods, 2 — W. M. Shipp, Jr., 4 — E. B. Judkins, 1 — Vega De Oro, 12 — Anna H. Ransom, 8 — Willie FL Park, o — Alecia 
and Jessica, 8 — Scrap, 11 — Minnie B. Murray, 12 — George Lyman Waterhouse, 20 — " Patience," 6 — W. S. D. Moore, 9 — Nellie and 
Harold Crowell, 5 — E. Reyemllac, 9 — "Lode Star," 8 — Alice Cantine, 9 — Dycie, 12 — Vessie Westover, 4 — Julia A. Groff, 1 — Ina, 3 

— Chas. Haynes Kyte, 12 — "A. P. Owder, Jr.," 12 — Nellie Caldwell, 5 — Dick and Annie Custer, 6 — B. P. Gause. 1 — George Smith 
Hayter, 10 — No Name, 7 — Jennie Koehler, 5 — Valerie, 6 — D. C. Hicks, 4 — "M, N. Bank," 2 — Viola and Louise, 7 — Algernon 
Tassin, 8 — Arthur and Florence, 1 — Checkley, 3 — Alice H. Foster, 1 — Willie C. Anderson, 2 — Pernie, 10 — Venie Atwood, 6 — Bertie B. 
Wordfin, 1 — Louis E. Osbom, 2 — Tillie Kirchstein, 2 — Clara and her Aunt, 12 — Frank While, 1 — Hester M. F. Powell, 6 — Mary A. 
Piper, 1 -George Mather, 5. Numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 




Vol. X. JUNE, 1883. No. 

[Copyright, 18S3, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Mary J. Jacques. 

COME into Great-grandmother's garden, 1115' clears: 
The Sunflowers are nodding and beckoning away, 

The Balsams are smilingly drying their tears. 
And fair Morning-Glories are greeting the day. 

How pure is the breath of the old-fashioned Pinks ! 

How modest the face of the Lady's Delight! 
Sweet -William his arm with Miss Lavender's links, 

And whispers, " I dream of you morn, noon, and night." 

The Dahlia looks on with a queenly repose, 

Unheeding the Coxcomb's impertinent sighs, 
And fierce Tiger-Lily an angry look throws 

At Bachelor's Button, who praises her eyes. 

The red Prince's Feather waves heavy and slow 

By Marigolds rich as the crown of a king; 
The Larkspur the humming-bird sways to and fro; 

Above them the Hollyhocks lazily swing. 

Come, Four-o'-Clocks, wake from your long morning nap! 

The late China Asters will soon be astir ; 
The Sweet Pea has ordered a simple green cap — 

Which the Poppy pronounces too common for her. 

There 's Southernwood, Saffron, and long Striped Grass; 

The pale Thimble-Berries, and Sweet-Brier bush ; 
An odor of Catnip floats by as we pass — 

Be careful! nor Grandmamma's Chamomile crush. 

Come into Great-grandmother's garden, my dears : 
The Sunflowers are nodding and beckoning away — 

Ah! the true Grandma's garden is gone years and years — 
We have only a make-believe garden to-day. 




f ,fJw'4f.\Tf^^ t j -f|i ;/ 



By f. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter XXIV. 


The children had been gone about three hours, 
when their mother, sitting at her window, which 
looked toward Tammoset village, noticed an un- 
usual number of boys hurrying down the road 
toward the river. 

Reflecting that it was the first of May, and prob- 
ably a holiday in the schools, she thought little of 
the circumstance, until she saw groups of men also 
going in the same direction. She then hobbled 
to the front part of the house, where she could get 
a view of the bridge. 

It was thronged with people, and more were 
coming from both ways — from Dempford as well 
as Tammoset ; some stopping on the bridge and 
looking off toward the mill, while others climbed 
over the rails at each end, ran down the shores, 
and disappeared tinder the high bank by which 
the view of the river below was shut off from the 

At the same time, the kitchen girl began to call : 

" Mrs. Tinkham ! Mrs. Tinkham ! What are 
all these people doing out here by the mill?" 

The widow hobbled to another window, and saw 
an amazing sight. Neither boy nor man had en- 
tered the yard in the regular way ; but the upper 

bank was now alive with youngsters scrambling up 
from below. Some threw themselves on the turf, 
and sat with their backs toward the house and their 
legs hanging down the slope. Others stood be- 
hind them or looked about for better positions. A 
dozen or more got into the great willow, where 
they filled the seats or leaned upon the branches. 
All appeared eager to witness some great spectacle 
taking place below. 

The mother of the Tinkhams knew very well 
what that was. "O my boys! my boys!" she 
exclaimed, " why are you not here ? " and without 
waiting to cover her feeble shoulders and gray 
hair, she hobbled out of the house. 

She heard suppressed cries of: " Look behind 
you ! " " There comes the old lady ! " and for a 
moment saw the faces of the intruders all turned 
her way. There was much silly tittering among 
them ; and the next moment every boy was intently- 
gazing down the slope again. 

" What does this mean? What are you here 
for?" she cried, approaching the nearest group. 

" We just wanted to see the fun ! " was the grin- 
ning response. 

" What fun?" she demanded, sharply. 

" To see the dam tore away ; for that 's what they 
are doing," somebody answered, in a loud, insolent 
voice from the willow. 

" Is that Dick Dushee ? " 

* Copyright, 1SS2, by J. T. Trowbridge. All rights reserved. 



" Yes, that 's Dick ; he told us we could come 
up here." 

" He would n't have dared show his face if my 
sons were at home!" said the widow. "I should 
think he might be in better business, and the rest 
of you, too ! Make room for me, will you? Whose 
ground is this, yours or mine ? " 

The loungers on the turf had not offered to move 
out of her way, but the lively movement of a crutch 
among their elbows and ears made them scatter, 
and she stood on the top of the bank. 

This is what she saw : both shores of the river 
swarmed with spectators, boys and men, and 
even women and girls here and there. The plat- 
form at the corner of the mill was black with the 
crowd. There were boats, also, held against the cur- 
rent by young men aboard, probably Argonauts. 
In the midst of all, the center of attraction, stood a 
line of stout laborers leg-deep in the water, with 
picks and iron bars demolishing the dam. 

The work had evidently but just begun. The 
first planks were yielding to sturdy blows. There 
was little noise beside ; no loud talking, nor 
shouting of commands. Never was disorderly 
crowd so orderly and well behaved. There were 
even policemen present — Dempford men in blue 
coats on one shore, and Tammoset men in gray on 
the other — keeping the peace. The whole thing 
had been thoroughly planned and organized before- 
hand, as the local newspaper boastfully informed 
its readers on both sides of the river, in its next 

The crippled woman, supported on her crutches 
at the summit of the high bank, her gray head 
bare — a strange, pathetic figure — called aloud to 
the laborers to desist from their work of destruc- 
tion. Not one of them heeded her : but all other 
eyes were turned upward, while her voice con- 
tinued to ring out, tremulous yet clear, entreating 
yet commanding : 

"Must I stand here alone, and see my property 
destroyed ? Is there not one who will take my 
part, and stop this lawless proceeding? Are you 
all on the side of injustice and brute force ?" 

There was a brief silence ; then a Dempford 
man in blue — our old acquaintance, in fact — 
made answer from the opposite shore : 

" It is not a lawless proceeding, madam. You 
were duly notified that the dam must be removed. 
As you have not done it yourself, the people have 
taken it in hand." 

"The people who do it, or witness it without 
protest, are a mob ! The only law they have on 
their side is mob law, and they know it. There is 
no other law that can touch my poor little property 
here. I see grave-looking men in this crowd, men 
who no doubt call themselves respectable citizens. 

Are they aware that, by their presence, if not by 
their acts, they are making war on a defenseless 
woman and her absent children? Well for you, 
well for you all," cried the widow, lifting a crutch 
and shaking it passionately over the heads of the 
crowd, " that my boys are not here to-day ! You, 
breaking the dam there, and you assisting by look- 
ing on, would not be where you are ! But you 
chose a safe time for your brave deed ! " 

She stopped to subdue the passion that was 
swelling in her voice ; then, as nobody answered 
her, and as the planks and stakes were still giving 
way before the picks and bars, she went on : 

" If this dam, which we have a right to maintain, 
— for I have taken legal counsel on the subject, 
and I know, — if it troubles you, why don't you go 
to work like honorable men and get rid of it? I 
hear that some of you, who are not Argonauts, 
have yet subscribed large sums toward building 
the club-house. Why have n't you subscribed 
something toward abating this nuisance you com- 
plain of ? A few hundred dollars would have 
bought off the previous owner ; or my boys would 
have come to any just agreement with you. Eut, 
ah!" she cried, scornfully, "this is not the popu- 
lar side ! You can well afford to give money for a 
new boat-house ; but one poor woman's mill-dam, 
that is in the way of a few pleasure-boats, must be 
ruthlessly destroyed ! Oh, what men you are ! " 

Nobody answered her again. But, if there were 
not in that assemblage of two or three hundred 
people, young and old, a few hearts that felt and 
remembered long afterward her thrilling words 
and the tears that now came streaming down her 
cheeks, it was a pitiless mob indeed. 

" I have had my say," she added, "and now 
you will do as you please." 

Her cheeks still wet with unwiped tears, she 
stood in silence and saw the work of demolition 

The planks and stakes, as they were broken 
away, were sent floating down the stream: and 
soon not a vestige of the dam remained visible. 
The end of the platform, with the fish-way attached, 
was left hanging in the air. The laborers seemed 
to think their work done, and started to wade 

Then a little fellow about the size of Web Foote. 
standing in one of the boats, swung his hat and 
called for three cheers. The spectators responded, 
though not very heartily, their feeling of triumph 
being sadly chilled by the sight of the pale face 
and feeble form supported by crutches on the 

But now there was a singular movement on the 
farther shore : 

A man with coarse, sandy features of vast 

5 66 



territorial dimensions, who had been watching the 
show with manifest satisfaction, said something in 
a low voice to somebody else, who whispered it to 
a third person, who in turn ran to the edge of the 
bank and called to the men wading ashore : 

" Go back ! There 's one thing you 've for- 
gotten ! " 

" What 's that, Milt ? " asked the little Commo- 
dore from his boat. 

" The mud-sill ! " said Buzrow, for it was indeed 
our amiable friend, the cow-smiter's son. " Dushee 
says they can rebuild the dam without any trouble 
if we leave the mud-sill." 

" Is that so, Dushee ?" cried Web Foote, in a 
loud voice. 

" Certainly it is," Dushee replied in a much 
lower tone, after some hesitation. 

Even he must have felt the ignominy of openly 
giving counsel for the destruction of a dam he had 
formerly had to defend, and which he had dis- 
honestly passed into other hands. Perhaps, also, 
his old hatred of the Argonauts made the situation 
awkward for him. But his present hatred of the 
brothers he had wronged outweighed other con- 
siderations, and he spoke out : 

" They have only to drive new stakes and nail 
on fresh boards. But rip up the mud-sill and 
spilin's, and they can't rebuild in the present state 
of high water." 

" That 's so ! " exclaimed Buzrow. "Up with 
the mud-sill ! " 

So the men went back into the water, and with 
their picks and bars attacked the long strip of 
timber which, with what Dushee called the "spil- 
in's," — sharpened boards driven down several feet 
into the river-bed. — had served to keep the water 
and those pioneers of the water, the eels, from find- 
ing their way under the dam. 

It was the hardest part of their job. The spilings 
had been driven to stay ; and they were nailed to 
the sill. The tops of some of them broke off, 
however, while the old, rusty nails in the rest gave 
way ; then up came the heavy, water-soaked tim- 
ber, one end first, and, slowly lifted and swung 
around, scarcely floating, went down the strong 
current after the stakes and planks. 

So much the Tinkham boys had gained bv 
making one superfluous enemy. 

Chapter XXY. 


After the funeral, Mart and Lute stopped to do 
some business in town, while Letty and the three 
younger brothers hastened to take the first train 
for Tammoset. 

" I 've the strangest feeling," Letty said, "that 
something isn't right with Mother." 

" I don't see what can have happened to her," 
replied Rush. "But I can't help feeling skittish 
about the dam." 

Starting to walk home from Tammoset station, 
they were surprised to meet a number of people 
coming up the road, who gave them curious, ex- 
cited looks. They hurried on, meeting more and 
more ; and, passing the brow of the hill, saw two 
scattered throngs moving slowly up both shores of 
the river, converging at the bridge, and from there 
streaming off thinly, in groups and pairs, toward 
Tammoset and Dempford. 

"The dam! the dam!" exclaimed the boys, 
making a sudden onward rush. 

All was over when they reached home. The 
last of the youngsters was slipping from the tree 
down the bank, on the summit of which the widow 
still stood, with gray head uncovered, propped 
upon her crutches. 

" Mother ! Mother ! " Rush exclaimed, springing 
to her side before the rest. " What is it? " 

She was very pale, but quite calm now, until his 
coming caused her emotions to surge up again. 

" You see what has been done," she said, point- 
ing at the spot where the dam had been. 

He gave a savage cry of grief and rage. 

" There 's nothing to be said," she continued, 
checking a sob, "but much to be done. Where 
are the boys ? " 

"They are coming in a later train. Oh!" ex- 
claimed Rush, his face in a spasm of fury and 
pain. " if we had only been here ! " 

" It's well you were not. Better suffer wrong, 
than to have killed some one, or have been killed 
yourselves. For I am sure one of these two things 
would have happened ! " 

" Something would have happened ! " said 
Rush. " Oh ! to think you were here alone ! You 
saw it all ? " 

" I saw it all ! " 

" And do you know who did it ? " 

"How could I? There were only two faces I 
ever saw before — the Duchees." 

Dick had already been discovered as he tumbled 
down the slope at sight of the boys : and Rupert 
and Rodman had been for giving him chase and 
throwing him into the river. 

" Was the old reprobate here looking on ? " de- 
manded Rush. 

" He was not only looking on, but you owe it to 
him that the mud-sill was torn up." 

The wrong seemed too great to bear. Rush 
struggled with his bursting heart for a moment, 
then said : 

" Never mind ! this is n't the end ! Bring the 



clothes-line, boys ! we '11 save what we can. Letty, 
help Mother into the house ! " 

Letty, whom the boys had outrun, had now 
come up, and was clinging to her mother's side. 
Rush left them, and hurried down the path to the 
lower story of the mill, where he met our old ac- 
quaintance, the gray-coated Tammoset policeman. 

The policeman smiled — not at all like one 
caught in bad business, but rather as if he had 
been engaged in some praiseworthy action. 

" I think," he said, " you will find your property 
has been carefully protected. I have n't allowed 
anybody to go into the mill, or to damage any- 

Rush regarded him with wrathful amazement. 

" Perhaps you expect some reward from us ? " 

" I don't ask it," replied the man in gray, bow- 
ing complacently, with a look which implied that 
a reward would not be unwelcome. " I have only 
done my duty. The dam had to gc, you know. 
We 've seen the last of that." 

"The last of it?" echoed Rush, with angry 

"The last of it!" the man in gray repeated, 
positively. " An injunction will be applied for at 
once, to prevent you from rebuilding it." 

"Why did n't you have the mill torn away, 
too?" said Rush. "Don't you see it projects 
twenty feet into the river? It may be in the way 
of some nice little pleasure skiff, some time ! " 

He did not wait to hear the man's reply to this 
fierce sarcasm, but, having bent into a hook-like 
shape the end of a long iron rod which he found 
in the back shop, he hastened with it down the 
river, accompanied by Rupert with a pole and 
Rodman with the clothes-line. 

They descried the mud-sill lodged in a bend, 
and some Argonauts in a boat poking one end of 
it, as if to set it afloat again. 

" Let that timber alone! " 

Rush sent his voice before him, while running 
with full speed. The Argonauts poked and pulled 
with their oars harder than ever. 

" I warn you ! " he shouted. " That timber be- 
longs to me ! " 

As they did not desist, but seemed hastening to 
get the sill out of reach from the shore, he caught 
up a stone weighing three or four pounds, and, run- 
ning up within hurling distance, flung it with all 
his might. 

It struck the boat between wind and water, with 
a crash and a splash which sent the Argonauts 
paddling off in a hurry. Rupe and Rod, following 
along the shore, let fly smaller stones, one of which 
fell into the boat, while another went whizzing over 
two swiftly ducking heads. 

"Thieves! robbers! cowards!" Rush shouted, 

having first thrown the hook-like end of his rod 
over the timber. " You do your dirty work in the 
night-time, or when only women are at home, but 
you run from two or three boys ! Come back here 
if you want your boat smashed ! " 

" We 've nothing to do with you," a big-voiced 
Argonaut shouted back. " Our business was with 
the dam." 

" My business is with the dam, too ! " cried 
Rush. " I know you, Milt Buzrow; and if I see 
you touch one of those planks by the shore down 
yonder, I '11 follow and stone your boat all the 
way to Dempford ! " 

Buzrow exhibited his courage by bellowing back 
some heavy threat ; but for some reason he and 
his fellow-Argonauts did not think it worth their 
while to meddle with any of the drift-wood. 

Rush called to his brothers, and with their help 
soon had the timber hauled alongside the bank. 

"We wont try to get it home now," he said. 
"The tide will turn in a little while and help us. 
Stay here and hold on to it, while I go and borrow 
Mr. Rumney's boat." 

He hurried back up the river to the bridge, 
crossed over, and found the farmer walking leisurely 
toward his barn. Rush did his breathless errand. 

'My boat? What do you want it for?" Mr. 
Rumney replied, good-naturedly. 

" Does it make any difference what I want it 
for?" Rush asked rather sharply, thinking his 
rustic neighbor was also in sympathy with the 

"Wall, mabby ! " said the farmer. " If you 
want it for any ordinary purpose, I say you can 
take it. But if you want it to save your timbers 
and put back your dam " 

" That 's just what I want it for ! " said Rush, 
with headlong frankness. 

" In that case, I don't care to stir up the prej- 
udice of the Argue-nots agin' me. So I sha'n't say 
you can take it. But see here ! " the farmer added, 
confidentially, as Rush was turning away in furious 
disgust; "if anybody should come and take the 
boat without leave, and never say I let 'em, they 
would n't be prosecuted. They '11 find the oars be- 
hind the hen-house." 

" Thank you," said Rush. 

" Don't thank me. for I don't know nothin' about 
it, you know. I 've seen how you boys have been 
treated, and I shouldn't blame ye if you took any 
boat you could lay hands on." 

The farmer was entering his barn. But he non- 
turned back and added : 

" Or anything else, for that matter. Bv the 
way, did you know the Argue-nots are preparing 
to build a platform around the side of their boat- 
house ? They 've got the posts and lumber on the 




spot. Don't tell anybody I said that to you, 
neither ! " 

" I don't see what that is to us," Rush replied. 
" Though they rob us of our dam, we can't go and 
steal their stuff in return." 

" Of course not," said the farmer, with a broad 
and somewhat significant smile. "Of course not." 
And he entered the barn. 

" He thinks we can destroy their property 
as they have destroyed 
ours," thought Rush, as 
he walked slowly back to 
the road. " And I am 
mad enough to ! I 
should like to put a 
keg of powder un- . 

der their boat-house, 
and blow it to 
the moon ! Or 
sink the Com- ,38 
modore's yacht 
in the deep- 
est part of the 
lake ! " 


For the first time in his life he felt how revenge- 
ful, how desperately wicked, even an honest, well- 
meaning boy could be when fired by wrong. He 
wanted to go that night, and, by the help of a 
match and a few shavings, send the new boat- 
house roaring up into the sky in a wild cloud of 
smoke and flame. 

But he had a steadfast, prudent nature, which 
helped him to put all such evil fancies quickly out 
of his mind. Beside, he had something else to 
think of now. 

He had not wished to be seen going directly from 
Mr. Rumney's barn to the boat. He therefore 
walked back to the bridge ; then, appearing sud- 
denly to change his mind, he leaped the fence, ran. 
to the hen-house for the oars, and a minute later 
might have been seen 
pushing off in the boat 
and rowing rapidly 
down the river. 

Chapter XXVI. 


Rush had taken his 
younger brothers on 
board, met the turning 
tide, and recovered 
much of the floating 
debris, — picking up the 
stakes and smaller 
pieces, and driving or 
towing the planks with the 
slowly backing current, — 
when Mart and Lute ap- 
peared, hurrying down to- 
ward the shore. 
On reaching home and learn- 
ing what had happened, they 
had made a hasty change of 
clothing, and Mart had put on 
what they called the "Dushee 
dug-outs " — a pair of enormous 
rubber boots, '.merited frorn 
the former owner, and used, 
hitherto, chiefly in working 
about the dam in high water. 
They came up to the hips, and, having been de- 
signed for much stouter limbs, they made the lank 
Martin look, as he waded into the river, as if he 
were walking in a pair of churns. 

Not a word of the great disaster ; but Mart sim- 
ply said, "You 're doing well, boys!" in quiet 
tones of approval, which it always did the younger 
ones good to hear. 

No language, as Lute said afterward, would 
have done any sort of j-j-justice to the occasion. 
So, instead of wasting breath over the injury they 
had received, they set earnestly about repairing it. 
The end of the clothes-line was passed on from 
Mart wading in the river to Lute on the shore; and 
boat and planks were towed back to the mill. 
There the fragments of the dam were heaped on 


5 6 9 

the bank, and the mud-sill was also hauled up out 
of the water. 

Bits of the spilings remained nailed to the side 
of the sill here and there. But they were few and 
small, the nails, when it was wrenched away, hav- 
ing in most cases broken, or been drawn through 
the soft boards — a fact which Lute observed with 
keen interest. 

" What are the spi/ings ? " Rod inquired. 

Mart, who believed in explaining things to 
inquiring young minds, explained accordingly — 
the more willingly now, because he wanted the 
younger boys to understand the sort of work in 
which they might be required to assist. 

" In building a dam of this kind, the first thing 
put in place is the mud-sill, laid level across the 
river-bed. Then all along by that, on the up- 
stream side, they drive a row of boards, set 
closely edge to edge, the tops left even with the 
top of the sill, and nailed fast to it. Those are the 
spilings, and they help hold the sill in place." 

"Except when p-p-parties come and r-r-rip it 
out," suggested Lute, still studying and examining. 

"The spilings are mainly useful," Mart went 
on, " to keep other parties, like muskrats and eels, 
from working under the dam. Eels are a kind of 
Argue-nots; they claim a right of way, and when 
they can't wriggle through or over, they try to 
burrow beneath." 

"One little hole in the b-b-bed of the river," 
said Lute, "the water makes it bigger, and the 
first you know there 's no b-b-bottom to your 

Mart then explained that the stakes were driven 
on the down-stream side of the sill, and that the 
boards of the superstructure rested on the edge of 
it, running lengthwise with the timber, and nailed 
to the stakes. The sill also served as a floor for 
the flash-boards to shut down on. All which the 
younger boys had some notion of before, and were 
to know pretty thoroughly by experience in future. 

" Lucky for us the spilings were driven deep 
and half rotten," said Lute. " If they had n't been, 
they 'd have p-p-pulled up. I believe we can get 
the mud-sill back and make 'em do for a t-t-time." 

" We could, if the tops of so many had n't been 
broken," said Mart. " It will be hard fitting the 

"We need n't fit the pieces," said Lute. " 1 've 
an i-d-d-dea." 

As Lute's ideas were always worth listening to, 
the others listened intently. 

" Dig a trench," he said, " and sink the mud-sill 
eight inches. That will cover the broken p-p-parts 
of the spilings, and the ragged ends left sticking 
up over it wont do any hurt." 

"Capital!" Rush exclaimed. "The row of 

spilings will guide us in digging the trench and 
replacing the sill." 

Mart said nothing, but walked with a peculiarly 
earnest, expectant look, straight into the river, and 
began to feel his way among the spilings with his 
clumsy boots. 

" I believe you 're right. Lute ! " he said. " If it 
was a time of low water, we could do it at ebb tide 
without any trouble." 

The tide was but just coming up now, and yet, 
owing to spring rains, the water where he stood 
was nearly two feet deep. 

" It 's a bad-working job," said Rush, " with only 
one pair of Dushec's dug-outs among us ! The 
water is awfully cold yet. I wish it was later in the 

"We can build a temporary dam, just a light 
fence to keep the most of the water off, while 
we 're at w-w-work," suggested Lute. 

" If we had boards enough," said Mart. 

" Plenty of b-b-boards." 

"I don't see that. These old planks are so 
split and broken that only a few will do to use 
again. And though we have looked out for hav- 
ing boards enough on hand to rebuild the dam, 
we have n't enough for a temporary dam at the 
same time." 

"Plenty of b-b-boards," Lute repeated, confi- 
dently. " Rip the siding off the sheds." 

"So we can!" exclaimed Rush. "And put it 
back again when the temporary dam comes away." 

But Mart raised objections. 

"The old dam," he said, "was fifty feet long. 
The mill projects into the river twenty feet. That 
makes something like seventy feet from bank to 
bank. And the temporary dam would have to be 
three or four boards high, to keep the water from 
pouring over." 

" I don't propose to build from bank to bank," 
Lute explained. " 1 would start the temporary 
dam at the corner of the mill, just above the per- 
manent one, and run it across a little diagonally,, 
to give us room to work between them." 

" But the water will come tearing under, I 
know ! " said Rush. 

"Yes, it will b-b-bother us. But we can stop it 
with more boards, and relieve the pressure by 
letting it through the mill-sluice. That 's one ad- 
vantage of starting the temporary dam at the 
corner of the mill. It wont take long to drive 
stakes and string it across." 

Still Mart objected, believing that the temporary 
dam would cause more trouble than it would save, 
and preferring to work in the water. 

The difficulties in the way of either plan were 
formidable enough. The brothers were still argu- 
ing the question, when Lett) came to tell them 




that, for their mother's sake, they must come in to 
their supper, which had been a long while waiting. 

" Well," said Mart, " it 's so late we can't do 
much more, as I see ; and we can talk over plans 
in the house as well as here." 

The supper-table conversation, that evening, 
was wonderfully cheerful and quiet, considering 
the circumstances. The wrong which had been 
done them knit more closely the sympathies of 
mother and children ; they were never before so 
united, hardly ever so happy. The spirits of the 
young men had risen to meet the emergency ; 
their hearts had grown great. 

" The more I think of it," said the widow, with 
glistening eyes, " the more thankful I am that you 
were not at home this afternoon. If you had been, 
we should not be sitting here together now, all safe 
and well, with clear consciences and sound limbs — 
I am sure we should not ! " 

" I am frightened when I think what might have 
happened!" said Letty. "What if one of you 
had been hurt, as I know you would have been, 
before the dam could ever have been torn out ! " 

" We should n't have looked on with our hands 

"How long will it take to rebuild the dam?" 
Letty asked, as she passed the dish. 

Mart was explaining that it would depend upon 
circumstances, when Rush spoke up: 

"That reminds me of what the policeman said — 
some nonsense about an injunction being applied 
for at once, to prevent our rebuilding it. They 
can't, can they ? " 

" Say it again," replied Mart. He paused, hold- 
ing the gingerbread he was about to break, and 
listened seriously while Rush repeated the officer's 
words. " I don't exactly like that ! " he drawled. 

•' Is there anything in it? " cried Rush, in a tone 
of alarm. 

" I don't know, but that 's very likely their 
game. Now the dam is torn away, the court may 
possibly clap on an injunction to prevent our re- 
building it. Then we may have to wait for a long 
course of law to decide the matter. I don't know 
about it ; and while we are waiting to consult Mr. 
Keep, their trap may be sprung. I prefer to be 
on the safe side." 

" What is the safe side ? " Rush inquired. 

"An injunction," said Mart, " is a writ to pro- 

in our p-p-pockets," said Lute, soaking a crust of hibit your doing something which somebody corn- 

dry toast in his chocolate. " That is n't the T-t-tink- 
ham style." 

"Or suppose you had hurt somebody else?" 
said the mother ; " perhaps fatally, and were now 
in jail, with the terrible prospect of a trial ! Oh ! 
how much better we can afford to lose a little of 
our property, or even all, and begin the world 
again with clean hands. We have suffered a great 
wrong, but that is better than to have done even a 
little wrong. We wont complain of Providence as 
long as our hope and strength and love remain, 
and we are left to one another." 

" I don't know what makes me so glad! " ex- 
claimed Lett)'. " I never was so proud of my 
brothers. I never felt so sure that they would 
come out all right at last ! " 

" It 's no use giving in to t-t-trifles,'.' said Lute. 
"We mean to have our dam again, and k-k-keep 
it, next time." 

" We 've been pretty indulgent to the Argonauts," 
said Mart. " We 've allowed them two chances at 
us — one when we were asleep and one when we 
were away. That 's about enough. Now let 'cm 
look out ! Piece of gingerbread, please, Letty." 

plains will damage public or private interests. 
Now:, suppose, before such a writ is issued, the 
thing is done? That 's what I call the safe side 
for us." 

" You mean to rebuild the dam before we are 
ordered not to rebuild it! " said Rush. "But can 
we ? The order may come to-morrow morning!" 

•' Yes, or a notice that it has been applied for. 
Then the rebuilding would be at our own cost and 
peril. Boys." said Mart, starting up, "we have n't 
a minute to lose ! " 

" No," said Lute ! " There '11 be a moon. We 
must w-w-work to-night ! " 

The brothers were on their feet in a moment, 
eager, even to the youngest, to begin the tremen- 
dous task of circumventing the enemies of the dam. 
Amidst the sudden clatter of chairs and clamor of 
voices, the mother uttered her remonstrance. 

"Oh, boys," she said, "rest to-night and do 
your work to-morrow ! That will be better, I m 

"No, Mother ! " replied Mart, with a quiet laugh. 
" To-morrow may be too late. We '11 work to- 
night, and rest when our work is done." 

(To be continued.) 




[Decoration Day, 18S3.] 

By Celia Thaxter. 

\\ ,\ Illkl bring your purple and gold, 
Glory of color and scent ! 
Scarlet of tulips bold. 

Buds blue as the firmament. 

Hushed is the sound of the fife 
And the bugle piping clear: 

The vivid and delicate life 

In the soul of the youthful year 

We bring to the quiet dead, 

With a gentle and tempered grief: 

O'er the mounds so mute we shed 
The beauty of blossom and leaf. 

The flashing swords that were drawn, 
No rust shall their fame destroy ! 

Boughs rosy as rifts of dawn, 

Like the blush on the cheek of joy, 

Rich fires of the gardens and meads, 
We kindle these hearts above ! 

What splendor shall match their deeds? 
What sweetness can match our love? 


'■- ••" K.r 

57 2 

llo W T O M M V' W E N T T O J AIL. 



By Kate B. Foot. 

It was a hot morning in early June. The sun 
shone brightly, the grass was very green, and the 
saucy little dandelions looked like dots of gold 
thickly sprinkled on the grass. It was all very 
bright and very pleasant, but Tommy got very 
tired of it all ; so he thought he would go and see 
Carry Young, who lived just across the church 
lawn and the jail-yard, and in a house that was 
really part of the jail, for her father was the 

So off he trudged, — a pretty little boy of live 
years, with blue eyes and yellow curls, wearing a 
brown Holland dress, with a straw hat planted on 
the back of his head, — a pailful of dandelions in 
one hand, and a wooden shovel in the other. He 
had a tussle with the latch of the gate, but at last 
he got out, and as soon as he had tugged up to the 
top of the church lawn, he saw Carry in the jail- 
yard, and he ran over, calling to her. She was 

very glad to see him, and they played together for 
a long time, till Carry said she was tired and 
hot, and was going into the office to get cool. So 
they both went indoors. Tommy had never been 
in there before, because his mother had always 
said that he might play outdoors with Carry, but 
must not go into the house. But, this time, he 
had somehow forgotten that injunction. 

The office was a queer room, with two doors 
that went outdoors, and two doors that went in- 
doors, and two more doors that were not doors at 
all, but iron gates. Tommy went and looked 
through one of the gates, and thought it was the 
funniest place that he ever saw in his life, for t'here 
was a long, long entry and big windows on one side, 
and on the other many other iron gates — only 
they were little ones, not nearly so big as the one 
he was looking through. He pressed his face 
against the bars, and wondered what it was all 
for. When he turned around. Carry had gone, 
and Mr. Young was just seating himself. 

"Would you like to go inside, Tommy?" said 
Mr. Young. 

"Yes, sir," said Tommy. 

So Mr. Young took down a big bunch of keys 
and opened the gate, and Tommy went in, and 
Mr. Young swung the big gate together behind 
him and locked it with a great jangling of keys. 
Then Tommy was scared, and he puckered up his 
forehead and mouth, and big tears came into his 
eyes. Mr. Young was watching to see what he 
would do, and seeing the tears, said, "Oh ! I '11 
let you out whenever you want to come." 

Then Tommy felt comforted, and concluded 
that he would go on and see what sort of a place 
he had got into — for this little boy was very curi- 
ous, and always wanted to find out about things for 
himself. So he walked on to the first little gate, 
and there he saw a very little room with a bed and 
a chair in it, and on the bed was a man who 
seemed to be sound asleep. Tommy looked at 
him for a little while, but he did n't speak to him, 
because he felt sure he must have a headache, or 
some illness, to be lying down in the day-time. His 
mamma had headaches, and then nobody ever 
spoke to her; so he went on to the next gate. 

There sat a man leaning forward, his eyes fixed 
on the floor, and he was thinking so hard that he 
did n't hear Tommy at all as he came softly up 
and stood still before him. The man had a sort 
of red cap on his head, and a long red dressing- 

i83 3 .1 



gown, with a cord and tassel around the middle. 
Tommy looked at him very hard, and then 
thought to himself, " He 's as nice as my papa, 
and 1 guess he's a prince; they wear long red 
gowns and things." 

The man sat very still, and Tommy looked at 
him for what seemed a long, long time, and then 
he said, "Good-morning, sir." 

The man started so that Tommy jumped too, 
and dropped his shovel on the floor. But he need 
not have been scared, for the man had a pleasant 
face and a pleasant, kind voice, and, after looking 
at Tommy for a minute with very wide open eyes, 
he said : " Why, how did you get in here, and how 
do you do ?" 

" 1 'm very well," said Tommy. " Mr. Young let 
me come in. I play with Carry." 

" Oh, you do ! " said the man. " What do you 
play ? And what 's your name ? " 

" Oh, lots o' things. Carry and me has planted 
a garden. My name's Tommy. What 's yours?" 

" Mine?" said the man. " Well, I have n't any 
just now." 

They chatted on for a minute or two, and then 
Tommy said : " Let me in there, 1 want to sit 

A queer look came over the man's face. " I 
can't open the door," lie said. " You sit down on 
the floor." 

"Why can't you open it?" And Tommy 
looked very much puzzled. 

"Because it's locked, and I haven't got the 
key," said the man ; and then he said, half to 
himself, " Wish I had." 

" I '11 get the key," and Tommy turned to go 
back to the big gate. 

" No, no," said the man, in a quick, sharp way, 
and Tommy looked at him, and was half scared 
again. But by the next minute the man looked 
as pleasant as he had at first, and so Tommy sat 
down on the floor in front of the gate, with his 
legs crossed in front, his little pail of fading dande- 
lions on one side and his wooden shovel on the 
other, and, with a little dimpled hand on each knee, 
prepared to have a nice talk — for Tommy was a 
very sociable boy. 

He looked at the man very intently for a 
minute, and then he said, with a solemn look in 
his big blue eyes, " Have you been naughty ? " 

The queer look came into the man's face again, 
and he said, " What makes you think so ? " 

"'Cause once 1 was naughty and my mamma 
shut me up all alone in the nursery, and I did n't 
have a nice door like this. I had a big, hard door, 
and I could n't see out at all, and I did n't like it. 
llai'C you been naughty — say?" 

" Well," said the man. " ves ; I' m afraid I have." 

"Wont you be good if they '11 let you out?" 
And Tommy looked very serious. 

The man looked at Tommy. He looked at 
him so hard that Tommy could only stare back at 
him, wondering what made him look so, and then 
the man said slowly, " I don't know." 

" Oh, yes, you '11 be good. Now, say you '11 
be good, an' then you '11 mean to be good, an' 
you can come out," said Tommy, and he shook 
his head so that the yellow curls on either side 
waved to and fro. The man did n't answer, and 
Tommy went on. "Now, you see, when my 
mamma shut me up 1 was an awful bad boy, 
'cause 1 bit Ellen one day 'cause she would n't 
bring up and put on my shoes, an' my mamma she 
sat down by the door, an' she said if I 'd say 
really I was going to be good I would be good, an' 
so I said really 1 was, an' she opened the door an' 
1 came out, an' I 'm a real good boy now. Now, 
you say you '11 be good really, an' then I '11 go tell 
my mamma, an' she '11 open the door." 

Just then a man came up, and, opening a tinv 
little door in the gate, handed the man a plate 
with something on it. 

The man took it and put it on the floor. " Have 
some ? " he said. 

" No, thank you," said Tommy, looking scorn- 
fully at the plate. " That does n't look good like 
what we have. Don't you have chicken ? We 're 
going to have chicken to-day. I saw 'em when I 
came out." 

" No ; they don't have chicken here," said the 
man, and he pushed away the plate with his foot, 
as if he did n't like the look of it. 

"Well, now, you 're going to be good, are n't 
you? " and Tommy put on his most coaxing and 
winning air. 

The man sat very still, and then he suddenly put 
his hand through the bars : "Yes," he said, "1 
guess I am going to be good. Shake hands on it." 

Tommy jumped up in such a hurry that he 
spilled all the dandelions, and put his little hand 
in the man's big one, and put up his lips for a 
kiss, and when the man had kissed him, Tommy 
said, " Now I '11 go and tell my mamma, an' she 'il 
let you out." Then he picked up his pail and 
shovel, and said, " I guess I don't want those 
flowers. There's lots out in our yard," and then 
he stood still a minute looking at the man, who 
was looking straight at him. Presently Tommy 
opened his eyes and mouth wide. " Why ! " he 
said, "you aint going to cry — you're too big. 
Mamma says Pin too big to cry." 

" No," said the man ; " I 'm not going to cry." 
And yet Tommy was sure that big tears were in his 
eyes. The man put out his hand. " Shake hands," 
he said, " and come again some dav." 


HOW T O M M Y • W E N T TO f_A I L. 


" Why, yes ! " said Tommy ; "but they'll let 
you out now 'cause you 're goin' to be good. 1 '11 
tell 'em. Good-bye. I '11 come back right off." 
And so he went away to the big gate, passing the 
room where the man had been asleep. But he 
was sitting up then. " Good-morning," said 
Tommy, stopping a minute. The man lifted a 
sullen, cross face, and said, in a very cross voice, 
" Get out with you ! " and Tommy, fairly scared 
this time, ran to the gate crying : " Oh, let me out ! 
quick ! let me out ! " And Mr. Young let him 
out, and, before he could lock the gate again, 
Tommy was running home across the garden just 
as fast as his legs could carry him, and he never 
stopped until he got safely inside the kitchen-door. 

And then he was busy with his dinner, and so 
busy after his dinner — for he went to the circus — 
that he quite forgot about his visit and the poor 
man that was locked up, until he was going to bed ; 
then he said, " Oh ! Mamma, they have such funny 
little beds in the jail; and, Mamma, I forgot to tell 
you, there 's a man there, — an' he says he '11 be 
really good, — an' wont you let him come out 
now ? " 

Tommy's mother looked very much surprised, 
and said, "Why, where have you been, my little 
boy ? " 

So, although Tommy was very sleep)', he told 
about his visit to the man. After Tommy had 
finished his story, his mother held him very tight 
in her arms for a minute, and then said, " But, 
Tommy, you know I said you must n't go into 
Carry's house." 

" Well, I forgot," said Tommy — " I truly did, 
and I wont go any more ; only, Mamma, do let him 
out, 'cause he 's goin' to be good." Tommy was 
very, very sleepy, but he found time to wonder, 
before he fairly went off into dream-land, why his 
mother's eyes and mouth looked so queer when 
she leaned over and kissed him good-night. 

" Just like crying," he thought, and, the next 
minute, was fast asleep. And at about the same time 
Mr. Young stood talking to the man in the jail. 

" So you had a visitor this morning ? " 

" Yes," said the man, " and I spent the best 
half-hour with that little fellow that I 've had since 
I took up my lodgings in this hole." 

" Well, good-night," said Mr. Young, and he 
went on. 

The man threw himself on his bed, but not to 
sleep; he tossed restlessly all night long, and 
through the long, narrow window opposite the door 
of his cell the very same stars looked in upon him 
that looked in on little Tommy, sound asleep in his 
crib. He lay flat on his back, with parted lips and 
rosy cheeks, one fit arm thrown over his head 
and one extended along his side, with his fingers 

thrust out of the bars of his crib, that he might put 
out his hand to find his mother's if he should wake 
in the night. 

A clay or two after Tommy's visit to the jail, the 
man, with whom he had talked so innocently, and 
who called himself Williams, was taken to the 
court-room for trial. There was little to be said 
in his defense, and the evidence against him 
was strong. He 
was found guilty 
of robbing a 
safe, and so the 
judge sentenced 
him to five years 
at hard labor in 
the State-prison 
at Charlestown, 
Mass. He was 
taken there at 
once and put to 

Now, this man 
had never work- 
ed in all his life. 
His father was 
a rich man, and 
had, for years, 
given him plen- 
ty of money to 
spend. But he 
got into bad 
company, part- 
ly because he al- 
ways had plen- 
ty of money in 
his pocket, and 
when he fell in- 
to bad company, his father refused to give him 
anymore money, and turned him out of his house. 
And he had learned to think it easier to steal than 
to work ; and one night he, with several other 
men, robbed a safe; and that was the way he got 
into prison. 

He suffered dreadfully when he was shut up and 
made to work hard, and never allowed to walk out 
except in the dreary prison-yard. He tried very 
hard to escape, but he and all the other prisoners 
were too closely watched for that; and so after 
awhile he gave up trying to get away, and worked 
faithfully, partly because he was happier when he 
was very busy, and partly because he won the 
good-will of all the prison officers by so doing, 
and once in awhile obtained little favors from 
them, such as a little longer walk in the yard on 
Sundays, and, after awhile, work that was easier 
for him to do. 

So two years went by, and one bright summer 





day one of his fellow-prisoners came to him and 
told him of a plot among them which, if success- 
fully carried out, would give him and several more 
the liberty they so longed for. But to carry out 
the proposed plot it was absolutely necessary to 
kill one of the prison officers; then they would take 
his keys, and, before the alarm could be given, get 
safely away. 

What a temptation it was to Williams ! He 
wanted so much to get out to breathe the free, 
fresh air again, for somehow the air even in the 
prison-yard did not seem fresh to him, and he was 
only there for such a little while every day. But 
to kill the turnkey ! — That was a dreadful thing to 
think of even ! — And yet there was no other way 
to get out, and he would be free — yes, he would. 
So he agreed to the plan, and the last night came. 
At the cell three doors below the one occupied by 
Williams the keeper was to be stabbed, and then 
within an hour twelve men would be free again. 

It had been a very, very warm day ; the air was 
close and heavy and sultry. 

Williams lay on his bed, thinking " It is the 
last night," when he heard the turnkey coming 
down the corridor on his evening round of locking 

Every step took him nearer to death. Williams 
knew it, eleven other men knew it, and he knew 
that these men would if they could kill the man 
who should even offer to betray them. But the 
keeper came on, whistling a tune as he walked. 
The tune was commonplace enough, and worn 
threadbare by endless repetition in singing, whist- 
ling, and organ-grinding — only the old tune of 
" My Mary Ann "; but it saved his life. 

For, as the keeper came whistling on, Williams 
listened, and then noiselessly sprang off his bed, 
while great drops of perspiration gathered on his 
forehead, although he no longer felt the heat, but 
seemed to have grown suddenly ice-cold. 

He saw once more a little face looking in between 
the bars of his cell-door, and heard a sweet young 
voice that said, "Well, you're going to be good 
now ? " 

Why did he think of that little innocent face 
just at that moment ? Because on that day when 

Tommy had been to see him, and just after he had 
passed out of sight, with his yellow curls and 
big hat and faded dandelions, an organ-grinder 
in the street had stopped and played that tune, 
and he had heard it very faintly — but clearly 
enough to forever associate it with Tommy and 
his visit. 

" Going to be good ?" Yes, he had said he was 
"going to be good." And yet that very night he 
was going to be bad — aye. worse than he had ever 
been ! 

Tommy's little face grew more and more plain 
before his eyes. "Going to be good — going to 
be good now " seemed to be shouted in the an- 
as Williams stood leaning against the wall of his 
cell. The keeper came on ; he was the next cell 
but one above — at the next — at Williams's own ; 
in a second he would be gone — it would be too 
late. He had already shot the bolt and turned the 
key, when Williams, standing in the shadow, with 
his finger on his lips, whispered, "Stop !" He did 
not dare to show himself at the grating, but again 
he whispered " Stop ! " The keeper heard, and 
halted with his hand on the lock, bending his head 
slightly to listen, while Williams, tremblingly and 
half under his breath, told him all the truth. Then, 
as the low whisper ceased, the keeper stared wildly 
for a moment, but, recovering himself, said aloud, 
in careless tones, " I '11 get it for you," and with a 
quiet, steady step walked back the way he had come. 

There was nothing strange in that, for he often 
went back for a book or to attend to some question 
of a prisoner, as it was his last round for the night ; 
and so the men, farther down the hall, who were in 
the plot thought nothing of it, and waited. But when 
he came back there w : as a tread of many feet, and he 
had brought a strong guard with him. The eleven 
men were put in solitary confinement, and Williams 
received from the governor of the prison his most 
hearty thanks. Within a month he was pardoned 
out and once more free, and he really did become 
a good man. He went away to a foreign country, 
where no one knew his story, and from that day to 
this he has led a perfectly upright life. And this 
is what came of Tommy's visit to the jail; and the 
story is a true one. 






Jipre Was a ^Icfnifle^ old bard. the chief of whose delianfs 
1|| ] Was to tfunfc of pretty, poems as fie fay awafte o ni^lits 

L once camisosed an ode, said He , that no one could eclipse, 
wliich would rTave caused my name fa be forever on mens Jij3S> 
but, when the momma" 7 j 



>pt contentedly, 

could nt recoffect a word! fjjj / \jVow washt it a shame 
€fe» IP m ' \ ' Wk 



By Maurice Thompson. 

Chapter IV. 


As THE days flew past, the happy yeomen of the 
greenwood spent most of the time in hunting. 
They roved through the shady forests, with their 
strong bows in their hands, killing many fine deer 
and a great number of birds. Their bowstrings 
twanged musically at every shot, and their feath- 
ered arrows fairly whistled through the air. 

Meantime, the Sheriff of Nottingham issued a 
proclamation inviting all the good bowmen of the 
country to meet on his field for a grand day of 
target-shooting. He offered as the principal prize 
a silver arrow, feathered and pointed with gold. 
Hearing of this, Robin Hood called his men 
together, and bade them get ready to attend the 
meeting and contest for the splendid prize. This 
delighted the jolly yeomen, and they at once set 
to selecting their best bows and arrows, and their 
gayest hoods and kirtles for the occasion. Nor did 

they fail to practice at the distances to be shot, so as 
to be able to do themselves credit at the rrfatch. 

It must have been a pleasing sight when Robin 
and his men set out for Nottingham. The com- 
pany numbered one hundred and forty strong and 
comely fellows, the best archers in the world, all 
dressed in uniforms of green, and bearing bows of 
yellow yew that shone in the sun like gold. They 
were confident of success, and sang merry ballads 
of life in the greenwood as they marched along. 

When they reached Nottingham, they found a 
broad, level field set with rows of butts one hundred 
yards apart. Against these butts, or walls of sod, 
were placed the marks at which the archers were 
to shoot. The proud Sheriff was there superin- 
tending the proceedings, surrounded by a large 
number of his boldest followers and best bowmen. 

Robin and his yeomen marched into the field, 
relying upon the Sheriff's oath for protection from 

The bugles sounded gayly, calling the archers to 
their places to begin the merry contest. Bows 
began to bend, and bowstrings to ring, and ar- 

* Copyright, 1S83, by Maurice Thompson. 



rows to fly, well aimed at the shining white willow 
wands which served for the marks. Robin Hood's 
very best archers were five in number : Little John, 
Much, Gilbert of the white hand, Reynold, and 
Scathelock. They beat every bowman on the 
field, save Robin himself, who split the wand at 
every shot. The Sheriff stood by the butt at which 
Robin aimed, and watched his shooting 
with admiration and amazement. The 
stalwart archer's arm was as steady as 
a rock, and his eye as sure and keen as 
an eagle's. When he would raise his 
bow to shoot, every one would pause to 
note his movements. Steadily he would 


have broken your oath to me ! When I had you 
in my power 1 did not thus treat you ! 1 fed you 
and let you go. 1 have depended on your oath 
and your honor, and you have proven false. Shame 
upon you ! " 

By this time, all Robin's men had formed in 
a body and began retreating toward the forest, 
showering their arrows upon their enemies as they 
s \ went. Little John could not 

't- walk — he was so hurt — and 

f~ was about to fall into the 
- -„r-J' J i ?> Sheriff's hands, 

when Much, the 
miller's powerful 
son, picked him 
up ind carried 
him, occasionally 
putting him down 
to launch an arrow 
at the pursuers. 
The Sheriff was determined 
to take Robin Hood, dead or 
alive. He roused all his men 
and followed closely. The good 
yeomen were greatly outnum- 
bered, and there was danger of 
their spending all their arrows. 
While Robin was thus sorely 

draw back the cord 
of his powerful yew 
bow until the feather 
of his arrow touched 
the tip of his right 

ear, then an instant's pause for aim, and, with 
a "twang," away would fly the whizzing ar- 
row, to strike the very center of the mark a 
hundred yards away ! No one could compare 
with him. He won the silver arrow, which he 
received from the hand of the Sheriff. 

It was now growing late, and Robin called his 
company together to depart for the greenwood, 
when suddenly horns began to blow on all sides, 
and the Sheriff and his villainous followers attacked 
our yeomen, with intent to kill or capture them all. 
An arrow struck Little John in the knee, wounding 
him severely. 

"Treason! Treason!" cried Robin Hood, 
shaking his bow at the treacherous Sheriff. *' You 

Vol. X.— 37. 

pressed, he suddenly came in sight of a strong 
castle situated in the edge of the forest. This 
was the home of the knight to whom Robin had 
lent the four hundred pounds. He was called Sir 
Richard at the Lea. The gentle and honorable 
knight was glad to do Robin and his men a good 
turn, so he took them into his castle and closed 
the gates, and would not let the Sheriff in. The 
latter tried to take the castle bv siege : but, find- 




ing this impossible, he withdrew his men and went 
off to appeal to the King. 

In the meantime, Robin and his merry men re- 
turned to the greenwood', after receiving bountiful 
kindness from the grateful knight. 

About this time Edward I. had succeeded Henry 
III. on the throne of England, and it was to him 
that the proud Sheriff went to appeal. The King 
said that in a short time he should be coining 
up to Nottingham, when he would capture both 
Robin Hood and the knight Sir Richard at the Lea. 

The Sheriff was very angry when, on returning 
from his interview with the King, he iound that 
Robin Hood and his men had again taken to the 
greenwood, but he dared not do anything until he 
was sure of success. So he set about watching for 
a chance to take Sir Richard at the Lea by sur- 
prise, which he succeeded in doing one day when 
the knight was out hawking. He ordered his men 
to bind poor Sir Richard upon a horse, and so 
took him in disgrace along the streets of Notting- 
ham. But Sir Richard's wife hastened into the 
greenwood, and informed Robin Hood of what had 
befallen her husband. Then Robin blew his bugle, 
and his sevenscore of yeomen hastened to gather 
around him. They were eager to rescue the gen- 
tle knight, whom they greatly loved. They bent 
their tough yew bows, and filled their baldrics with 
arrows. The greenwood echoed with the mur- 
mur of their voices and the sounds of their prepara- 
tions for the coming attack. 

Chapter Y. 


THE proud Sheriff rode along the streets of 
Nottingham, his trumpeters blowing their trum- 
pets in sign of triumph, because he had captured 
the gentle knight, Sir Richard at the Lea, and 
the King's archers rode along with him, treating 
the poor, bound prisoner with great cruelty and 

"Now, if I could get Robin Hood," said the 
Sheriff, " I should be happy." 

Scarcely had he spoken, when there came the 
sound of more than sevenscore bowstrings twang- 
ing at once, and immediately a flight of arrows 
along the street struck down a number of his men. 
Turning about, he saw Robin Hood and his com- 
pany charging down upon him with loud cries. 

The Sheriff, though dishonorable and mean, 
was not a coward. He drew his sword, and forth- 
with prepared to attack Robin Hood. 

" Stop ! " cried Robin, drawing his bow ; " stop 
and speak with me. What did the King say when 
vou went to him ? " 

But the proud Sheriff did not deign to answer 
him, nor to stop when he bade him. Flourishing 
his sword he still advanced. And then it was that 
Robin Hood let fly an arrow, killing him on the 

The gentle knight was soon released from his 
bonds, and went with Robin and his men to dwell 
in the greenwood, until such time as it should be 
safe for him to return to his castle. He was given 
a bow and arrows, and was taught all the ways of 
the merry forest yeomen. 

The hunting season came on, and the seven- 
score archers, with Robin and the gentle knight, 
roamed from grove to grove and made great 
slaughter of the deer. They feasted under the 
greenwood tree, and had a merry time ; but they 
never forgot to help and protect the poor. When- 
ever they heard of a husbandman who was op- 
pressed by the rich, they went to him, and gave 
him money and gifts of venison. 

Meantime, King Edward came to Nottingham 
with a strong company of brave knights and finely 
equipped soldiers. He was very angry when he 
found that his Sheriff had been killed ; wherefore 
he at once confiscated the estates and goods of the 
gentle knight, and began scouring the woods to 
capture Robin and his men. In the wood called 
Plompton Park, he discovered that his deer had 
nearly all been slain by the merry bowmen. This 
doubled his wrath, and he offered to give all the 
gentle knight's land to whoever would smite off 
the head of Sir Richard at the Lea and bring it 
to him. But the presence of the King at Notting- 
ham could not frighten Robin, nor could the King 
and all his troops keep the yeomen from killing the 
deer, the pheasants, and the other game in the 
forest and streams. 

Edward I. was not, in Robin Hood's estimation, 
a bad king. The outlaw had been desirous of 
making a friend of him ever since he had come to 
the throne — a friendship which had been prevented 
by the Abbot of Saint Mary's and the Sheriff of 
Nottingham. On the other hand, Edward was a 
great admirer of bravery, and looked upon the 
prowess and exploits of Robin and his men through 
the rosy mists of a fervid imagination. 

It was not long before the King and the master 
yeoman met in the greenwood under most romantic 
circumstances, as we shall see in a later chapter. 

Chapter VI. 

robin hood and the clouted beggar. 

Robin Hood sometimes did wrong, and at such 
times, as is usually the case with those who will- 
fully misbehave, he received evil in return. 



One day, he met a strange-looking beggar in the 
road. The fellow was covered with many thick- 
nesses of rags, or clouts ; in fact, his cloak was so 
patched and repatched that, in its thinnest part, it 
was more than twenty-fold. His hat was really 
three hats put together so as to form one heavy 
covering for his head. He carried a sack of meal 
swinging from his neck by a leather strap, fastened 
by a strong buckle. 

It was near night-fall when Robin stepped out of 
the woods, and called to the beggar to stop and 

aside your ragged old cloak and offer no further 
resistance. Untie your sack, and let me see what 
is in it, and, if you make any noise, I will see 
what effect a broad-headed arrow can have on a 
beggar's hide ! " 

But the beggar only grinned at the outlaw, and 
very quietly said : 

"You 'd better let me alone. I 'm not afraid of 
your bent stick and little pointed shafts, which are 
only fit for pudding-skewers. If you offer me any 
harm, I '11 baste you till you '11 be glad to let me go." 



talk awhile with him. But the clouted tramp paid 
no heed to his words, and walked right on as if be 
had not heard. 

"Stop when 1 speak to you!" cried Robin, 
growing angry. 

" I wont do it," responded the beggar, quite 
boldly. " It is some distance to where I lodge, and 
I don't care to miss my supper." 

" Lend me some money," jeeringly cried Robin. 
" I must have supper, too." 

" I 've no money for you," responded the beg- 
gar, gruffly. " You are as young as I, and you seem 
lazy and good-for-nothing. If you wait for your 
supper till I give you money to buy it, you '11 be 
apt to fast the rest of the year ! " 

This last speech made Robin very angry. 

"If you have but one farthing," he exclaimed, 
" I '11 take it from you. So you may as well lay 

Robin at once flew into a towering passion, and 
bent his bow to shoot the beggar; but, before he 
could draw an arrow, the clouted tramp struck at 
him with his oak staff" and knocked his bow into 
splinters. Robin drew his sword ; but, before he 
could use it, the beggar struck his sword hand, 
disabling it, and knocking the weapon away. Poor 
Robin was in a bad fix. The sturdy vagrant now 
fell upon him, all defenseless as he was, and be- 
labored him mightily. He basted his head, his 
shoulders, his back, his legs, till at last Robin fell) 
down senseless. 

"O fie! stand up, man! Don't lie down to 
sleep this time o' day ! Wait till you get my 
money, and then go to your tavern and be 
merry ! " shouted the beggar, in derision ; and 
thinking Robin was dead, he trudged on his way, 
not caring a whit for what he had done. 

5 So 



Shortly after, Little John, Much, and Scathe- 
lock came up to where Robin lay. He was moan- 
ing and writhing, the blood flowing freely from his 
basted head. They poured cold water on his face, 
chafed his hands, and finally restored him to con- 

"Ah!" he exclaimed with a deep sigh, "I never 
before was so thrashed. It is forty years that I 
have wandered in the greenwood, but no man ever 
so mauled my back as has that beggar whom you 
see trudging away up the hill yonder. I did not 
think he could do me any harm, but he took his 
pikestaff and beat me so that I fear I never shall 
be well again. If you love me, you will run and 
catch him and fetch him back to me. But beware 
of his staff: get hold of it first, or he '11 pound the 
life out of all of you." 

"Never fear," said Little John; " Scathelock 
and I will take him. Much may stay and take 
care of you." 

So the two seized their bows and ran after the beg- 
gar, who was leisurely pursuing his way over the dis- 
tant hill. They did not go along the road, however, 
but took a route through the woods, and, running 
very fast, got ahead of their victim and hid on each 
side of the road. When the beggar came on they 
sprang out, Little John catching holdof his staff and 
Scathelock holding a drawn dagger before hisbreast. 

" Give up your staff, or I '11 slay you on the 
spot ! " cried Scathelock. 

The beggar let go his staff, which Little John 
stuck in the ground hard by. 

" Don't kill me ! " cried the beggar in a whining 
voice. " I never did you harm." 

" You have nearly killed our master, who lies 

back yonder by the road," exclaimed Little John. 
" Come along with us, that he may give you your 
sentence ! " 

"Now," said the beggar, assuming a different 
tone, " I know you are honest fellows, and do not 
wish to harm me for acting in self-defense. If you 
will let me go, I will give you a hundred pounds in 
good money which I have in my bag." 

To this proposition Little John and Scathelock 
agreed. It was a wicked thing; for they intended 
to get his money and then take him all the same. 
So they bade him count out the money. 

The beggar took off his cloak and spread it upon 
the ground. Then he unslung his meal-bag and 
put it in the middle of the cloak. Little John and 
Scathelock drew close, to see him count out the 
good money. As they did so, the beggar thrust 
his two hands into the bag, and taking up a lot of 
meal in each he dashed it into the eyes of Little 
John and Scathelock. They were blinded so that 
they could do nothing but dance about and rub 
their faces. The beggar quickly seized his staff 
and began thrashing them terribly. He rapped 
them over the head, he basted their backs, he 
belabored their broad shoulders till the woods 
resounded with the heavy blows. 

As soon as they could escape, Little John and 
Scathelock took to their heels and ran. 

It was with great shame that they returned to 
Robin and reported the result of their adventure. 
The chief laughed at them, and they all three felt in 
their hearts that they had got no more than they 
had deserved. They had broken their rules in 
attacking a poor man, and had been soundly pun- 
ished in turn. 

( To be continued, j 

By Katharine R. McDowell. 

Said Ted : "I 've brought my father's boots- 
He wants to have them mended." 

The cobbler laid aside his awl 
And to the boy attended. 
; Vot vill he haf?" the cobbler asked — 

"Are dey half-solt to be?" 
: Half-soled?" said Ted, with wondering eyes- 
" Half-soled? Why, let me see." 

He stood in thought, and then ere long, 
With brightening face, began ; 

I do not think so, sir, because 

He 's called a whole-souled man/'" 



v our-oWls-u|3on-a-]imb. 
Stood- scolding- Just". 

\ /Sai 






By Sarah J. Prichard. 

Skyville is very up and 
in fact, there is nothing but 
and downs in the village. 
Around about it, hills 
arise on hills, with the 
result that the sky al- 
ways seems a trifle 
smaller in Skyville 
than anywhere else. 

Where so 
many hills 
are, hollows 

very down ; 

Morehouse. He was the old inhabitant of the region; 
the houses to the right of him and to the 
eft of him were new, and the long streets 
going down into the village were new, 
with new houses, and nearly every house 
with new-comers in it : for Skyville was 
growing — growing very fast, the local 
newspapers claiming five hundred new 
families in less than a year. 

The old Morehouse homestead had 
sheltered more than forty rogues 
in its da)-, but the forty 
rogues had resolved 
themselves into for- 
ty good citizens, 
and only one 
specimen of 
the roguish 
race was left, 
in Ora Ara- 
bella, aged 
ten and a 
half, and 

must be ; and in a long and ."■ f. 

crooked hollow to the north- 
ward of the village lies the lake — a 
clear, deep, winding-in-and-out sheet 4, % 

of water, nearly two miles long, and at 
no point more than a furlong or two wide. 

An old highway runs along the height 
about fifty feet above the lake. From this 
highway three streets struggle down the 
long hill village-ward, until sharply met by the 
next hill going up. 

In the farm-house on the highway, — old and 
wide and strong, and flanked by barns, store- 
houses, corn-crib, and windmill, — lived Farmer 

of the 
Old In- 
Now Ora 
Arabella was 
a quaint little 
maiden, with a won- 
derfully strong affection 
for Alta Maud, a lesser 
maiden, who lived in one of 
the new houses on one of the 
new streets. 
Ora Arabella and Alta Maud were, in reality, 
not even cousins, but they always said (either one 
or the other) "We are Baptist sisters." This very 
odd relationship arose one Sunday, when the 
children were mere infants, in a church in the city 




of Hartford, through the rite of baptism ; and as 
they grew older they laid claim to each other, and 
told the children and their teacher, when they 
moved to Skyville, "We are sisters." 

" Why don't you live together, then ? " they were 
asked. Their invariable reply, " 'Cause we are 
Baptist sisters," mystified and awed the children, 
while it greatly pleased the teacher. 

I regret to write it, but the spirit of reverence 
was so slight in the young Skyvillains that they 
shortened the names Ora Arabella Morehouse and 
Alta Maud Whittlesey to Ora Bap and Alta Bap. 
" Bap ! Bap ! " new-comers would question, when 
they first heard this queer appellation. "That is 
a new name in this region. Where did the Baps 
come from ? " 

Now, Ora had a snug little fortune, all her own, 
that had been left to her by her father, and her 
grandfather was her guardian. Ora herself would 
have divided every penny she had with her Baptist 
sister: for the Whittleseys had met with sore mis- 
fortune, losing thereby all their possessions. The 
family had come to Skyville to begin life anew. 
The father and three sons worked in a great mill. 
Even the mother and Alta Maud helped by taking 
work home from the mill to do, by which they 
could add sometimes seventy-five cents and some- 
times a dollar a day toward paying for the bright 
new house that had been built for them by one of 
the mill-owners. The Whittleseys were fired by 
but one ambition — to get the house paid for. 
Everything was going on prosperously to that 

end; the house was nearly paid for, when 

But I must wait a little, to tell what did happen. 

Grandfather Morehouse intended to be very wise 
and very economical with Ora's money: but he 
had a way, common with grandparents, of indulg- 
ing the little elf almost to the extent of her wishes. 

One day in June, Ora made known her wish for 
a boat. It must be just large enough, but none 
too big, to hold her Baptist sister and herself; it 
must be very light blue, with a gold edge, and one 
oar must have a blue blade, and pne a golden 
blade, both with white handles, and " Ora" was 
to be put in gold letters on the blue blade, and 
" Alta " in silver letters on the gold blade. " And 
Grandpa," she added, " the name of the boat is to 
be ' The Baptist Sisters.' " 

"Ora," said Mr. Morehouse, "do you know 
what the boys will call your boat ? " 

" 'The Bap, 'of course," said Ora ; "but we don't 
care, not a bit, if only that we have the boat." 

" And you really think I am going to order such 
a grandiose affair for you ? — do you, child ? Have 
you any idea of the cost of a gew-gaw like that ? " 

" I don't know what grandiose means exactly, 
Grandpa, but look here," and the child tugged out 

of a small pocket in her dress a catalogue from a 
boat-building establishment, profusely illustrated 
with cuts of boats, and containing glowing descrip- 
tions of the same. 

" Here 's my boat ! Just fifty dollars, Grandpa, 
only, maybe, 't would be a little more with the 
gold painting on it. I found this up by the boat- 
house on the lake. I suppose it was lost by some 
of the gentlemen who came up from New York to 

Grandpa Morehouse put the little book into his 
pocket and walked off toward the big corn-field, 
without saying another word. 

That was in June. The fifteenth of July was 
Ora's eleventh birthday. Vacation began on the 
Saturday before " The Fourth," so that there had 
been about two weeks of it when the time came. 

Alta was at work in the morning of that day out 

under a quince-bush — the only thing about the 

new house that gave shade ; and that was there 

rather by accident than through any care or fore- 

. sight of the Whittleseys. 

Ora went in search of Alta, and begged her to 
come out and play. 

" You mast come," she said. 

" But my work ! " replied Alta. " I'm trying 
so hard to earn fifty cents to-day. I shall have 
earned thirty when I have finished this card." 

" It 's too bad you have to do it at all"; and just 
to-day, Alta — come away for to-day, and stay with 
me to dinner. Where is your mother? Let me 
ask her," pleaded Ora. 

" No ! no ! " cried Alta. " Please don't say one 
word about it. Come back here, and I will tell you 
something. On Saturday, Papa is going to make a 
payment on this house, and we have all been try- 
ing, as hard as we can, to make up two hundred 
dollars. Father and the boys were counting it all 
up, and they wanted ten dollars more. Mother 
and I never said one word, but we meant all the time 
to surprise them by having a ten-dollar bill ready 
for them that day. Don't you see? — And we can't 
do it without working every minute ? " 

"Really?" exclaimed Ora, with sudden enthu- 
siasm. " What is the use of birthdays when houses 
are to be paid for? Give me a thimble and let me 
help. I can sew on buttons." 

" I have only this thimble, Ora, and Mother's is 
a great deal too large for you." 

" Then, I '11 run up home and fetch mine, and 
sew with you," said Ora. 

As the one young girl sped up the hill, the other 
one never lifted her eyes from her work, but 
steadily sewed button after button on the white 
cards, until she had fastened six dozen of them in 
place. " Dear me! " she sighed at last. " Here 
I have been working away — two dozen on a card, 




six cards to a gross, and all for four cents. // 
takes seven thousand five hundred stitches to earn 
one dollar! But we must n't give up, and we 
shall have such a good time when we hand the 
money over to Father and the boys." 

Alta did not see Ora come tearing down the hill, 
her hair flying, her collar loose, her face fairly 
glowing with some new excitement, but she did 
hear her voice crying joyously : 

" Oh, come — come home with me ! It 's come ! 
It 's come ! " 

" What 's come ?" questioned Alta. 

"Oh, my boat, my boat! And, Alta Whittle- 
sey. I say you are to come this minute and see it ! 
Here ! Grandpa gave me this, and you are going 
to have it to help make out. See ? Catch it ! " 
And a big silver dollar jingled among the buttons. 
" I never even stopped to take one look at the 
boat ; did n't want to see it till you did. Come, 
come ! " Ora was dancing up and down, and 
just bubbling over with the joy of anticipation. 

"Ora!" cried Alta. "I sha'n't take your 
money — your birthday gift." 

"Yes, you will," affirmed Ora; and the contro- 
versy went on until it was finally decided by Ora, 
who impetuously flung the silver dollar into the 
well, saying, "Now, it may stay there until some- 
body needs it enough to go down and get it." 

Ten minutes later, the Baptist sisters were hur- 
rying up the height, hand in hand, to see the new 
boat. It had arrived during the time of Ora's first 
visit to Alta, and the child's unexpected return 
for a thimble (which was utterly forgotten) disap- 
pointed Mr. Morehouse, who wished Ora to 
have her first sight of the boat after it had been 
launched. It had been brought in an ox-cart up 
the hills from the railroad station in the valley. 
When the two girls reached the farm-house, ox- 
cart, boat, and all had gone on to the lake. 

It was but two minutes' run down the hill to the 
lake's edge, and so on to the place where the boat 
lay. It was ready for the final shove that sent it 
into the water, and they were in time to see it go, 
and to behold, in golden letters on its stern, the 
words, " The Baptist Sisters" — a name that had 
puzzled the boat-makers greatly. Ora was so 
pleased and glad that she seized her Grandfather's 
hand and kissed it. 

Mr. Morehouse remarked that, if Ora and Alta 
were sisters, why, then, they must both be his 
grandchildren, whereupon Alta seized his other 
hand and kissed that. Then it was suddenly 
discovered that the bonny blue boat, with the 
golden-bladed oars, could not be used that after- 
noon, because it leaked a little, and must stay in 
the water a day or two until the seams closed. 

After that, Alta and Ora decided to spend the 

afternoon in the boat-house, sewing on buttons. 
The afternoon was warm and bright and lovely ; 
the lake was lightly stirred by the breeze that came 
over it, and busy young hands made haste to earn 
the pennies, until, suddenly, from the depths of 
the village below, came lip to them the screech of 
the great brass-mill whistle, followed by the sound 
of the clock-shop gong ; and then all the lesser 
steam-tongues and bell-tongues of the town were 
set agoing, to tell that six o'clock had come. 

Alta and Ora went home to tea, and, after that, 
they met once more just as the sun was sinking 
and the shadows had settled down on the lake. 
They had come to say good-night, and to take one 
more look at the graceful blue boat rocking itself 
to sleep — home-sick, perhaps, but still rocking 
itself into the shadows of night. 

" It 's too bad, Ora, and I feel very sorry about 
it," said Alta, at the farm-house gate, " that I 
have n't done one single thing to make it pleasant 
for you to-day. " 

"Oh, yes, you have," said Ora. "You have 
given me the pleasure of planting a silver mine in 
a well, as well as of earning a few pennies for you. 
Was n't it fourteen cents I earned to-day ? You 
wait until I am of age, and then see what I will 

"Just ten years !" laughed Alta. "Why, you 
may be married before then. I don't think I had 
better wait, do you ? Good-night. It looks as 
though we were going to have a thunder-shower. 
I must hurry home." And the Baptist sisters 
kissed each other good-night — Alta passing under 
the creaking blades of the windmill, and Ora 
entering the old farm-house door, with a vague, 
hungry feeling in her heart for a real sister, who 
could stay all night and every night with her. 

Grandmother Morehouse and Aunt Matilda had 
been making butter that afternoon. They were 
sitting in the gloaming on the veranda overlook- 
ing the lake, and watching the gathering clouds in 
the west, when Ora went in search of them. 

" It will be a dark night," said Mrs. Morehouse. 

" It looks ugly," said Miss Matilda. " We will 
go in." 

They went in and closed the doors. Meanwhile, 
up from the great brass-mill had come Mr. Whit- 
tlesey and his sons. This was Friday night, and 
on the morrow the payment was to be made. 
After supper was over, Mrs. Whittlesey and Alta 
sat down to count over their week's work, and Mr. 
Whittlesey read the morning paper. The boys 
went upstairs, having said good-night, and the 
house was very still. 

There were ten houses on that fifteenth of July 
on one of the streets leading down from the farm- 
house to the village. Eight of the houses had barns 



belonging to them. The Whittleseys lived in 
the third house. In the ten houses were forty- 
six persons, at the very moment that Ora and her 
Aunt Matilda, standing by a window looking down 
upon the lake, saw it become, as it were, a sea of 
fire. Suddenly, it was " lifted up and opened out 

into shreds as fine as hair, and their branches 
braided together like the strands of a cable. 

Farmer Morehouse came to himself in the midst 
of his pig-pen ; Mrs. Morehouse was found under 
a feather-bed, unharmed ; Miss Matilda returned 
to consciousness across the field, in the midst of up- 

in mountain waves of flame," that rolled into sound 
— an awful sound — ten thousand sounds ; and then 
the house seemed caught up — iuas caught up into 
flame and wind and wave, and dashed into frag- 
ments. Old, old elm-trees had their hearts torn 

turned trees ; 
while Ora Ara- 
bella and the 
windmill were 
found togeth- 
er — Ora all in 
one piece, the 
windmill in fragments. All were drenched. It 
was as though the lake had passed over them and 
gone on down the hil 

Intense darkness came after the flame, and then 
perfect peace. It was so still — not a pulse in the 
air — that one could carry lighted lamps or candles 
anywhere. Neighbors, appalled by the sound of 
wind and wave, came hurrying to the scene. And 
such a scene as it was ! Not one entire article of 
furniture ; not one unbroken bit of crockery ; not 
one door in all the house but lay shattered on the 
ground. The great stone chimney, the mighty 
frame of oak, lay burst asunder and helpless ; the 
very stones of the old cellar were loosened from the 

As, one by one, the members of the family gath- 
ered in sorry plight, dripping fragments of gar- 
ments clinging to them, conscious only of the glad 
fact that thev were saved alive, the news began to 

5 86 



be brought up the hill that Peter Brown's house 
was gone — and the widow Blim's — and the Whit- 
tleseys' ; and then up came Will Whittlesey with 
the astonishing news that there was n't a house 
left on the street, nor a barn, nor a horse, nor a cow, 
nor anything but a few stumps of trees ; the folks 
had been blown out of the houses, but nobody 
killed, he believed ; he could assure Ora that Alta 
was all right, anyhow. 

Such a night as it was ! Skyville had seen the 
hills above it wrapped in flame and had heard the 
cyclone's awful voice, and it hurried to the scene in 
the dead stillness of the July night, to offer aid and 
sympathy to the suddenly houseless families. 

While the Morehouse group was still clinging 
together, the women weeping convulsively, and 
Mr. Morehouse and the farm-men anxious to see 
what had become of the cattle, a curious sound, 
smothered and unreal, crept through a mass of 
hay near by. Vigorous hands sought out the 
source, and found that a cow lay beneath. Being 
released, the creature got up and walked away into 
the corn-field, with no fence to hinder. 

Only three persons out of the forty-six that were 
within the ten houses had received serious injury. 
Wonderful, indeed, had been the escapes. 

Ora and Alta went to different parts of the town 
to sleep that night, and did not meet until the next 
morning. It was very early, not more than half- 
past three in the July dawn, when the owners of 
the late houses were astir on the premises, seeking 
out whatever of value the wreck might have in 
keeping for them. Such a sight as it was ! Look- 
ing up the hill from below, there was nothing to 
be seen but eighteen piles of what appeared to be 

Ora and Alta were up before five, and, both 
hurrying at once to the scene of the tornado, they 
met at the foot of the hill. They rushed together 
and kissed each other, Alta gasping, "Isn't it 
just awful?" and Ora crving, "What sliall we 

•' I would n't mind so much about the house 
and the money that was to be paid to-day, and 
everything," whimpered Alta, " if it was not for 

"What is the matter with her?" asked Ora, 

"Why, did n't you hear?" said Alta, keeping 
back her tears with difficulty. " She went out too 
near the seeding-machine, and it fell on her and 
cut her dreadfully. Dr. Carson has her all wrapped 
up in bandages, and says she must n't move for 
ever so long. But everybody has been so kind to 
take us in and give us everything we need, that 
I don't feel nearly so bad about it as I did at 
first. And, Ora Morehouse, don't \.e\\ anybody, but 

just look at my foot. I would n't tell of it, 'cause 
the others had so many hurts." Alta sat down 
beside a great pile of hay by the roadside and 
drew off her boot. Her stocking was stiff with 
blood, and her foot black and swollen, as she held 
it up to the gaze of Ora. 

" You shall come with me up to Deacon Pratt's 
this very minute, and Aunt Matilda will do it up 
for you. You ought n't to take a single step on 
it," advised Ora. 

" Hello, there ! You, Alta ! Did you save that 
foot out of the tornado?" asked Tommy Glade, 
suddenly making his appearance from aiound the 

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Tommy ? " 
cried Ora. " To make fun of us, just because your 
house was left ! " 

" Well," said Tommy, " our barn was n't left, 
anyhow, for this is all there is of it — this lot of 
hay. And, if you '11 believe it, a carpet that was 
tight down on Polly Green's sitting-room floor 
went right through on the very tip-top of the tor- 
nado; and where do you suppose it is now?" 

" Where is it? " questioned Alta and Ora, in the 
same breath. 

" As sure as I live and breathe, girls, that car- 
pet is wrapped around John Stone's chimney, a 
mile and a half over the hills across yonder. Well, 
Alta Whittlesey, your foot did get a bang," lie 
went on. 

" Did you see the wind coming ? " asked Ora of 

" See it coming ! " laughed the boy. " I heard 
it, after it had gone. I just looked out, and every- 
thing was all fire ; the air was burning up, and 
then things went bang! — bang! — bang! — as 
quick as that, and it was all over; and a minute 
afterward it was so still that you 'd have thought 
the whole world had fainted away. Tell a fellow 
how you got out, girls?" 

Ora could n't remember anything about it, and 
all that Alta knew was that she saw the fire, and, 
thinking that the house had been struck by light- 
ning, she caught hold of the door-knob to get 
out. and the next she knew she was on the ground 
by John Knox's house. " And," said she, "every 
time I tried to get up off the ground, the waves 
knocked me down again." 

" 1 'm mighty glad we did n't any of us get 
killed," remarked Tommy. " Can I help you any? 
Where were you going?" 

" I was going to see if I could n't find something 
to save for Mother," said Alta. " Father and the 
boys staid up all night, hoping to find the money 
we had in the house as soon as it was light, and 
I 'm going now to see if it is found." 

The money was not found. Boards, bricks, 



stones, fragments of furniture — all were turned 
over, but nowhere could be seen the long pocket- 
book, containing one hundred and ninety dollars. 

Alta's tears came quickly as the two girls went 
into the cellar. There lay little heaps of straw- 
berries and raspberries and blackberries, amid 
broken glass, rings of rubber, and tops of cans. 

"Poor Mamma ! " sobbed Alta. " She worked 
so hard over these, and — and " 

But Alta's " and " never came to anything more, 
for, with an exclamation of delighted surprise, Ora 
ran up from the cellar and to Mr. Whittlesey, with 
the news, " I know where there is some money ! " 

noon. It was in vain. A kw silver spoons were 
recovered, and other articles of small value. The 
long pocket-book had evidently gone abroad on 
the wings of the wind. The next day, the town 
of Skyville called a meeting of its citizens, and a 
generous sum was raised for the present help of 
the families that had lost 
everything they owned. 

It was a mournful sight, 
as the days went on, to <-, 
see one and 
another of 
the home- 

Alta checked her tears and ran after her, onlv 
to find that Ora had thought of the silver dollar 
she had thrown into the well on the day before. 

"That dollar will stay there" was the reply which 
Ora received, and the search went on until near 

less ones still going over the ground, hoping to 
find something that once had belonged to the old 

Farmer Morehouse gathered up the fragments 
from his grounds and began to build anew. He 

5 88 



was not dependent on the bounty of his neighbors. 
Mrs. Whittlesey's wounds were slowly healing, 
while the brass-mill was again the scene of the 
labors of her husband and sons, when, one day, 
Ora, Alta, and Tommy Glade chanced to meet 
on the hill. 

"Tommy," said Alta, "did you ever go down 
a well ? " 

" Lots on 'em ! " answered Tommy. " Used to 
keep a board-seat in a well to hide on when I 
did n't want to go to school." 

"Tommy," continued Alta, "I know where 
there is a well with a silver dollar in it." 

"Wish I did," responded Tommy. 

" I '11 give you a quarter out of it, if you '11 go 
down and find it," said Alta. 

" Is it very deep? The water, I mean. Don't 
care nothing 'bout how deep the well is," said the 
boy, in a reflective tone. 

"It is n't very deep," said Alta; "not more 
than — I guess — about fifteen feet. We can drop a 
string down and find out." 

The three children experimented with strings 
and nails, and were assured that the water was too 
deep for Tommy Glade to enter. Then Ora started 
off for a neighboring house and came back with a 
looking-glass, and presently the reflected rays of 
the sun illumined the depths. The well-curb hav- 
ing been blown away, the opening was covered 
with boards. Removing these, and sitting as close 
to the opening as she dared, Alta looked for the 
silver dollar. Ora held the glass, and Tommy 
joined in the search. 

"Don't see nothing of it," said Tommy, in dis- 
gust. " Don't believe it 's in there." 

" Tommy ! Tommy ! " cried Alta. " Ora ! hold 
it still — right there ! " and Alta peered once 
more, and then she jumped up and said : "Tommy, 
1 guess Father and the boys will have to come to 
find it. You can go so much faster than I can. 
Wont you please run to the mill, as cjuick as you 
can, and tell Father I want him right away, and the 
boys, too. You may have the whole of the silver 
dollar, when it is found, if you will." 

" Guess they wont leave work for that," said 

" Father will come right away if I send for him," 
said Alta, with dignity. 

Tommy ran down the hill. 

As soon as he was out of hearing, Alta threw her 
arms around Ora and began to laugh just as hard 
as she could laugh, crying out : " Did you see it ? 
It's there! It's there ! " and then she giggled so 
that Ora, out of patience, exclaimed : " You goose ! 
Of course it 's there. Did n't I throw it in there 
myself? " 

" It's the pocket-book with the. money in it that 

' I '11 hold the glass and 
let you look ; it lies on a stone close to this side 
of the well." 

Ora peered through the depth and through the 
water, and presently fancied she saw something 
long, and the least bit like a wallet of her grand- 
father's, lying there. 

The time seemed long, and yet it was not fifteen 
minutes ere three figures, followed by Tommy, 
were seen coming up the hill. 

Alta and Ora, laughing together, ran down to 
meet them. 

"It's my luckv dollar," shouted Ora, "that 
did it ! " 

" Papa," said Alta, " I 've found the money ! " 

" When — where ? " was the cry. 

" In the well. The pocket-book is in the well. 
I 've seen it, and Ora 's seen it, and it 's there ! " 

Mr. Whittlesey looked, and the boys looked, and 
each and every one had to admit that it certainly 
was the long pocket-book, and that the strap that 
fastened it was in place. 

In less than half an hour the money, thoroughly 
water-soaked but legible, was in the hands of its 
owner ; and it was a happy sight for the Whittle- 
seys, soon after, to watch the row of bills drying in 
front of a bed of coals, between the proud and- 
irons that held the line to which the " green- 
backs " were pinned. Before the Skyville bank 
closed, at three o'clock, it was placed to the credit 
of the man from whom the house had been pur- 

"Now, my boys," said Mr. Whittlesey, "we 
will begin the world with free hands. We owe no 
man any money. Let us be happy." 

The next evening, the great brass-mill being 
closed, and all Skyville settling down for a good 
August night's rest, just as the moon came up and 
illuminated the lake, inquiry was made at the San- 
dersons', where the Whittlesey family had taken 
refuge, for Mr. Whittlesey. 

"Papa isn't here, Mr. Pratt," said Alta, who 
was sitting near the door-way. 

" And you are the little girl who found the 
money in the well, they tell me," said Mr. Pratt, 
smiling kindly upon her. 

" Yes, sir," said Alta. 

"Well, my dear," said he, "would you mind 
taking very good care of this little bundle till your 
father comes in, and then giving it right to him. 
Don't lay it down anywhere and lose it." 

Mr. Pratt wrote a few words with a pencil on the 
wrapper of the parcel, and, giving it to Alta, went 
away. At the gate he turned back, and said, 
" Now, be careful." 

" Yes, sir," said Alta. 

The twilight was quite gone when Mr. Whittle- 

i88 3 .] 



sey returned. Alta had staid awake with the little 
parcel under her pillow, waiting for his step in the 
next room. 

" Alta has something that was left for you," said 
his wife. 

"Papa! Papa!" cried Alta, running into the 
room in her long white night-gown, and holding 
forth the parcel toward the lamp. " What does he 
mean ? I read it, but I don't know." 

Mr. Whittlesey took the package, and, holding it 
under the lamp, read aloud these words: 

"Mv Friend: When God took that house away, I had an interest 
in it that I don't want to give up. Call and see me to-morrow. 

"A. L. Pratt." 

The parcel being opened disclosed one hundred 
and ninety dollars, with which sum the Whittleseys, 
happiest of the blown-out families of Skyville, 
began the world anew. 


By Marian A. Atkinson. 

The teacher sat in her silent hall. 

Her glance o'er the playground straying, 

And marveled much that the children all 
Had suddenly ceased their playing. 

The picnic, promised for pleasant May, 
Had been hindered by wind and weathei, 

So now, to battle 'gainst more delay, 
They were putting their heads together. 

No frowning faces her eye surveyed. 
Or gesture of childish passion, 

But eager groups in the old trees' shade, 
Debating in merry fashion. 

A laughing phalanx at length inpoured, 
Brave with the noon-tide hour. 

Till she thought of the Liliputian horde. 
With Gulliver in their power. 

Their roguish whispers betrayed full soon 
Fresh plannings for romp and riot ; 

While she, in the languor of sultry June, 
Longed only for rest and quiet. 

No flash of sabers, or roar of guns. 

As this enemy took position ; 
Their "arms" were loving, not warlike ones 

And kisses their ammunition: 




They asked that the streets of the quaint old town For a brilliant sunset we longed all day, 

Should be changed for the hills so airy ; Till we voted old Phcebus lazy, 

The school-room carpet for mosses brown. And weather prophets we bored, till they 

Red-cupped for the elf and fairy ! Declared we would set them crazy. 

The cool, deep shade of the fragrant wood, 
June skies in their azure splendor. 

Were lures that won her to pliant mood, 
As well as their pleadings tender. 

But morn came, rosy and fair and sweet, 
And soon was the air resounding 

With joyous voices and restless feet, 
And frolic and mirth abounding. 

Over ride, and weather, and feast, each one 

Spent sagest consideration : 
For the joy that 's next to the day's own fun 

Is the bustle of preparation. 

The street seemed brightened with shining eyes, 
As the boys and each beaming maiden 

Brought baskets, hiding some sweet surprise, 
Like bees, with their honey laden ; 

.88 3 . 



59 2 



In rustic state came the great farm wain, 
Whose ample arms, used to holding 

Sweet-scented hay and the golden grain, 
Were a richer freight enfolding. 

Her rustic throne, by a gnarled old tree, 
We had formed with some crimson draping ; 

And there each subject bent loyal knee, 
A kiss from the small hand taking. 

The laughing teacher bewildered grew 
In the midst of the blithe young faces, 

As the floating raiment — pink, white, and blue- 
Came crowding to fill the spaces. 

But even butterflies honey sip, 

And courtiers have hungry hours ; 

And a queen's own delicate, dainty lip 
Is not above sweets and sours. 

To the doors and windows the neighbors flew, 

To view the new illustration 
Of the puzzled old dame and her crowded shoe, 

And. to laugh at the situation. 

So a chosen band spread the damask fair, 
The goodly hampers untying ; 

And fragrant coffee perfumed the air, 
With scents of the woodland vying. 

An inner cluster of wee ones sweet 
She placed with the girls in order, 

While our gallant boys, with their daring feet. 
Perched, jubilant, round the border. 

The noontide call was a welcome sound ; 

And gay little lads and lasses 
Came quickly trooping the cloth around, 

To sit on the fringing grasses. 

A gay procession, we moved along — 
Our music a laughing chorus ; 

Till the hills reechoed our woodland song, 
And waved green banners o'er us. 

For once, reality seemed more sweet 

Than fondest anticipation ; 
As sauces dainty, cakes, puddings, meat, 

Showed oddest conglomeration ! 

We went where a clear spring bubbled through, The buzz and chatter, first low and mild, 
The emerald mosses stirring; Lost seemingly all connection; 

Where ferns were waving and wild flowers grew, Our words got lost in the hubbub wild, 
And the wings of birds' were whirring. Or went in the wrong direction ! 

We chased stray butterflies through the trees, 
Then hunted the hill-sides over: 

For Fortune's pet is the first who sees 
The magical four-leaved clover. 

The verbal tangle I can't depict : 
The fun waxed wilder and faster, 

To culminate when the teacher strict 
Said "Dear" to the drawing-master! 

Late coronation of May-day's queen 
We held then, in pomp and glory, 

And a sweeter sovereign was never seen, 
Or read of, in song or story. 

Then some went swinging, some played croquet. 

While others old sports were trying, 
And through Copenhagen's wild mazes they 

Went swiftly, merrily flying. 

Her wreath was woven by fingers deft ; 

With fairest of buds we- crowned her ; 
While her knights and ladies stood right and left. 

And her "Maids of Honor" around her. 

But the brightest day must sink in the west, 
And shadows must cover the clover, 

And so at last in each dear home nest 
We sighed that our picnic was over. 

isa 3 .l 



By Harry M. Kieffer. 

As it would seem but proper that some explanation of 
the re-appearance of the " Recollections of a Drummer- 
Boy" in these columns should be made, the writer desires 
to say that, upon the conclusion of the former series, so 
many letters from different sections of the country having 
been received by the editors of St. Nicholas, as well as 
by the writer, expressing regret at the too early con- 
clusion of the series, and urgently pressing that they be 
further continued if possible, it has been decided to yield 
to these kindly demands of many appreciative readers. 
There will, therefore, appear in these summer num- 
bers of St. Nicholas such additional chapters of his 


OUR first camp was located on the outskirts of 
Harrisburg, Pa., and was called "Camp Curtin." 
It was so named in honor of Governor Andrew G. 
Curtin, the great war Governor of the State of 
Pennsylvania, who was regarded by the soldiers of 
his State with an enthusiasm second only to that 
with which they, in common with all the troops of 

VOL. X.— 38. 

personal recollections of army life as the Drummer-Boy's 
second rummage through his diary, and second inquiry 
into his memory of the stirring scenes of twenty years 
ago, have afforded. There will be no repetition of 
events already rehearsed, albeit the ground Mill be a 
second time traversed from enlistment well-nigh to 
muster-out. The new chapters, while observing the 
proper sequence of events as given in those which have 
already appeared, will be found, on examination, to form 
a more or less continuous series by themselves. It is 
hoped that they may prove as interesting as did the 
former series to the many readers of St. Nicholas. 

the Northern States, greeted the name of Abraham 

Camp Curtin was not properly a camp of in- 
struction. It was rather a rendezvous for the 
different companies which had been recruited in 
various parts of the State. Hither the volunteers 
came by hundreds and thousands for the purpose 
of being mustered into the service, uniformed and 
equipped, assigned to regiments, and shipped to 




the front as rapidly as possible. Only they who 
witnessed it can form any idea of the patriotic 
ardor, amounting to a wild enthusiasm, with which 
volunteering went on in those days. Companies 
were often formed, and their muster-rolls filled, in 
a week, sometimes even in a few days. The con- 
tagion of enlisting and " going to the war " was in 
the very atmosphere. You could scarcely accom- 
pany a friend to a way station on any of the main 
lines of travel without seeing the future wearers 
of blue coats at the car-windows and on the plat- 
forms. Very frequently whole trains were filled 
with them, speeding away as swift as steam would 
carry them to the State capital. They poured into 
Harrisburg company by company, usually in citi- 
zens' clothes, and marched out of the town again 
a week or so later, regiment by regiment, all glori- 
ous in bright new uniforms and glistening bayo- 
nets, transformed in a few days from civilians into 
soldiers, and destined for deeds of high endeavor 
in many a desperate battle. 

Shortly after our arrival in camp, Andy and I 
went to town to buy such articles as we supposed a 
soldier would be likely to need — a gum blanket, a 
journal, a combination knife-fork-and-spoon, and 
so on to the end of the list. To our credit I have 
it to record that we turned a deaf ear to the solici- 
tations of a certain dealer in cutlery, who insisted 
on selling us each a revolver and an ugly-looking 
bowie-knife, in a red morocco sheath. 

" Shentlemen, shust te ting you vill need ven 
you goes into de battle. Ah, see dis knife, how it 
shines ! Look at dis very fine revolfer ! " 

But Moses entreated in vain, while his wife stood 
at the street-door looking at a regiment march- 
ing to the depot, weeping as if her heart would 
break, and wiping her eyes with the corner of her 
apron from time to time. 

" Ah, de poor boys ! " said she. " Dere dey go 
again to de great war, away from dere homes and 
dere mutters and dere sweethearts and vives, all 
to be kilt in de battle. Dey will nefer any more 
coom back. Ah, it is so wicked ! " 

But the drums rattled on, and the crowd on the 
sidewalk gazed, and Moses behind his counter 
smiled pleasantly as he cried up his wares and 
went on selling bowie-knives and revolvers to kill 
men with, while his wife went on weeping and 
lamenting because men would be killed in the 
wicked war, and " nefer any more coom back.'' 
The firm of Moses and wife struck us as a very 
strange combination of business and sentiment. I 
do not know how many revolvers Moses sold, nor 
how many tears his good wife shed ; but if she 
wept whenever a regiment marched down the street 
to the depot, her eyes must have been turned into 
a river of tears : for the tap of the drum and the 

tramp of the men resounded along the streets of 
the capital by day and by night, until people grew 
so used to it that they scarcely noticed it any 

The tide of volunteering was at the full during 
those early fall days of 1S62. But the day came 
at length when the tide began to turn. Various 
expedients were then resorted to for the purpose of 
stimulating the flagging zeal of Pennsylvania's 
sons. At first, the tempting bait of large bounties 
was presented, — county bounties, city bounties, 
State and United States bounties. — some men, to- 
ward the close of the war, receiving as much as 
one thousand dollars, and never smelling powder 
at that. At last, drafting was of necessity resorted 
to, and along with this came all the miseries of 
'• hiring substitutes," and so making merchandise 
of a service of which it is the chief glory that it 
shall be free. 

But in the fall of 1862 there had been no draft- 
ing yet, and large bounties were unknown — and 
unsought. Most of us were taken quite by surprise 
when, a few days after our arrival in camp, the 
County Commissioners came down for the purpose 
of paying us each the magnificent sum of fifty dol- 
lars ; while, at the same time, the United States 
Government agreed to pay us each one hundred 
dollars additional — of which, however, only twenty- 
five was placed in our hands at once, the remain- 
ing seventy-five to be received only by those who 
might safely pass through all the unknown dangers 
which awaited us, and live to be mustered out 
with the regiment three years later. 

Well, it was no matter then. What cared we 
for bounty ? It seemed rather a questionable pro- 
cedure, this offering of money as a reward for an 
act which, to be a worthy act at all, asks not, and 
needs not. the guerdon of gold. We were all so 
anxious to enter the service, that, instead of looking 
for any artificial helps in that direction, our only 
concern was lest we might be rejected by the 
examining surgeon and not be admitted to the 

For, soon after our arrival, and before we were 
mustered into the service, every man was thor- 
oughly examined by a medical officer, who had 
us presented to him, one by one, divested of cloth- 
ing, in a large tent, where he sharply questioned 
us — "Teeth sound? Eyes good ? Ever had this, 
that, and the other disease ? " And pitiable was 
the case of that unfortunate man who, because of 
bad hearing, or defective eyesight, or some other 
physical blemish, was compelled to don his citi- 
zens' clothes again and take the next train for 

After having been thoroughly examined, we 
were mustered into the sen-ice, and so made, in 



a peculiar sense, the sons of Uncle Sam. As we pantaloons, a coat, cap, overcoat, shoes, blanket, 

now belonged to his family, it was only to be and underwear, of which latter the shirt was — 

expected that he would next proceed to clothe us. well, a revelation to most of us, both as to size, 

This he punctually did, a few days after the mus- shape, and material. It was so rough that no 

ter. We had no little merriment when we were living mortal could wear it, except, perhaps, one 

called out, formed -in line, and marched up to who wished to do penance by wearing a hair-shirt. 

the quartermaster's department, at one side of the 
camp, to draw our uniforms. There were so many 
men to be uniformed, and so little time in which to 
do it, that the blue clothes were passed out to us 
almost regardless of the size and weight of the 
prospective wearer. Each man received a pair of 

Mine was sent home along with my citizens' 
clothes, with the request that it be kept as a sort 
of heir-loom in the family to excite the wonder of 
future generations. 

With our clothes on our arms, we marched back 
to our tents, and there proceeded to put on our 




new uniforms. The result was in the majority 
of cases astonishing. For, as might have been ex- 
pected, scarcely one man in ten was fitted. The 
tall men had invariably received the short panta- 
loons, and presented an appearance, when they 
emerged from their tents, which was equaled only 
by that of the short men, who had, of course, re- 
ceived the long pantaloons. One man's cap sat on 
the top of his head, while another's rested on his 
ears. Andy, who was not very tall, waddled forth 
into the company street, amid shouts of laughter, 
with his pantaloons turned up some six inches or 
more from the bottoms. The laughter was in- 
creased when he wittily remarked : 

" Uncle Sam must have got the patterns for his 
boys' pantaloons somewhere over in France ; for he 
seems to have cut them after the style of the two 
French towns, Toulon and Toulouse." 

" Hello, fellows ! What do you think of this? 
Now just look here, once ! " exclaimed Pointer 
Donachy, the tallest man in the company, as he 
came out of his tent in a pair of pantaloons that 
were little more than knee-breeches for him, and 
began to parade the street with a tent-pole for a 
musket. " My opinion is that Uncle Sam must be 
a little short of cloth, boys." 

"Brother Jonathan generally dresses in tights, 
you know," said some one. 

" Ah," said Andy, " Pointer's uniform reminds 
one of what the poet says — 

" Man needs but little here below. 
Nor needs that little long ! " 

" You're rather poor at quoting poetry, Andy," 
answered Pointer. " Because I need more than a 
little here below ; I need at least six inches ! ' 

But, by trading off, the big men gradually got 
the large garments and the little men the small, 
so that in a few days we were pretty well suited. 

I remember hearing about one poor fellow in 
another company, a great, strapping six-footer, who 
could not be suited. The largest shoe furnished 
by the Government was quite too small. The poor 
fellow tried his best to force his foot in, but in 
vain. His comrades gathered around him and 
chatted him unmercifully, whereupon he exclaimed : 

•' Why, you don't think they are all boys that 
come to the army, do you ? A man like me needs 
a man's shoes, not a baby's." 

There was another poor fellow, a very small man, 
who had received a very large pair of shoes, and 
had not yet been able to effect any exchange. One 
day the sergeant was drilling the company on the 
facings, — Right face. Left face, Right-about face, 
— and, of course, watched his men's feet closely 
to see that they went through the movements 
promptly. Noticing one pair of feet down the line 

that never budged at the command, the sergeant 
rushed up to the possessor of them, with drawn 
sword, and in menacing tones demanded : 

"What do you mean by not facing about when 
I tell you? I '11 have you put in the guard-house." 

" Why, I did, sergeant ! " said the trembling 

" You did not, sir ! Didn't I watch your feet ? 
They never moved an inch." 

" Why, you see," said the poor fellow. " my 
shoes are so big that they don't turn when I do. I 
go through the motions on the inside of them." 

Although Camp Curtin was not so much a camp 
of instruction as a camp of equipment, yet once we 
had received our arms and uniforms we were all 
eager to be put on drill. Even before we had re- 
ceived our uniforms, every evening we had some 
little drilling under command of Sergeant Cum- 
mings, who had been out in the three months' 
service. Clothed in citizens' dress, and armed 
with such sticks and poles as we could pick up, 
we must have presented a sorry appearance on 
parade. Perhaps the most comical figure in the 
line was that of poor old Simon Malehorn. who, 
clothed in a high silk hat, long linen duster, blue 
overalls, and loose slippers, was forever throwing 
the line into confusion by running back to find his 
slipper, which he had lost in the dust somewhere; 
and happy was he if some one of the boys had not 
quietly smuggled it under his coat, and left poor 
Simon to finish the parade in his stocking feet. 

Awkward enough in the drill w _ e all were, to be 
sure. Still, we were not quite so stupid as a certain 
recruit, of whom it was related that the drill-sergeant 
had to take him aside as an " awkward squad " by 
himself, and try to teach him how to " mark 
time." But, alas! the poor fellow did not know 
the difference between his right foot and his left, 
and consequently could not follow the order, 
"Left ! Left! " until the sergeant, driven almost 
to desperation, lit on the happy expedient of tying 
a wisp of straw on one foot and a similar wisp of 
hay on the other, and then put the command in 
an agricultural shape — "Hay-foot, Straw-foot! 
Hay-foot, Straw-foot ! " whereupon, he did quite 
well : for if he did not know his left foot from his 
right, he at least could tell hay from straw. 

One good effect of our being detained in Camp 
Curtin for several weeks was, that we thus had the 
opportunity of forming the acquaintance of the 
other nine companies with which we were to be 
joined in a common regimental organization. Some 
of these came from the western, and some from 
the eastern part of the State ; some were from the 
city, some from inland towns and villages, and 
some from the wild lumber regions. Every rank 
and class and profession seemed to be represented. 



There were clerks, farmers, students, railroad men, 
iron-workers, lumber-men. At first, we were all 
strangers to one another. The different companies, 
having as yet no regimental life to bind them to- 
gether as a unit, naturally regarded each other as 
foreigners rather than as members of the same 
organization. In consequence of this, there was no 
little rivalry between company and company, to- 
gether with no end of chaffing and lively banter, 
especially about the time of roll-call in the evening. 
The names of the men who came from the West 
were quite strange, and were a standing source of 
amusement to the boys from the East, and vice 
versa. Then there were certain forms of expres- 
sion peculiar to the different sections from which 
the men came, which were a long-standing source 
of merriment. Thus, the Philadelphia boys made 
all sport of the boys from the upper tier of counties 
because they said, "I be going deown to teown," 

(To be con 

and invariably used " I make out to" for " I am 
going to." Some of the men called every species 
of board, no matter how thin, "a plank"; and 
every kind of stone, no matter how small, "a 
rock." How the men laughed one evening when 
a high wind came up and blew the dust in clouds 
all over the camp, and one of the rural boys was 
heard to declare that he " had a rock in his eye ! " 
Once we got afield, however, there was developed 
such a feeling of regimental unity as soon obliter- 
ated whatever natural antagonisms may at first 
have existed between the different companies. 
Peculiarities of speech of course remained, and a 
generous and wholesome rivalry never disappeared; 
but these were rather a help than ahinderance : for 
in military as in social life generally there can be 
no true unity without some degree of diversity — 
a principle which is fully recognized in our national 
motto, "E Pluribus Unum." 



By May Bryant. 




There was a youthful scion 
Of a race of tyrant kings. 
Who roused his father's anger 
By the way he wasted things. 
Quoth then the wrathful monarch : 
Quick from my presence flee ! 

Yet turn your heedless ear 

To this my stern decree : 

No fish or flesh or fowl 

Shall your hunger's needs supply. 

Nor beast nor worm contribute 

To the clothing which you buy. 




When comes the gloomy night-time, 
No oil or vapor light, 
No wax or tallow candle. 
Shall make the darkness bright. 
Nor grains upon the hill-side, 
Nor tuberous roots on earth, 
Nor fruitful vines, and juicy, 
Contribute to your mirth. 

Thou prodigal ! Avaunt ! 
Go, starve upon the plain ! 
Thou never, nevermore, 
Shalt waste my wealth again." 

His son this law of exile 
Conned over at his ease ; 

" He has," he said, " left to me 
The mighty help of trees." 
He gayly snapped his fingers, 
He slammed the palace door — 

" Stern monarch, I shall flourish 
As proudly as before ! " 

A house he quickly builded ; 
It all was wondrous fine : 
Of English oak its rafters, 
Its floors of Norway pine. 
On pillars of palmetto 
The cypress-shingled roof, 
With oaken eaves and gargoyles, 
Against the storms was proof. 
There curious palm-mattings 
Spread over all the floors, 
Dyed crimson with the logwood 
From warm Caribbean shores. 
Quaint furniture of walnut 
And perfumed sandal-wood, 
With highly polished rose-wood, 
Throughout the mansion stood. 

" Now," said this Prince complaisant, 

" A ball I mean to give, 

I '11 show the King, my father, 
How finely I can live." 

The night came on apace 
When the house, was light as day, 
For candle-nuts in sconces 
Shed many a golden ray. 
Magnolias from the South-land, 
Pink apple-blooms from Maine, 
All. vied with orange-flowers 
The subtlest sense to chain. 
The noted guests assembled 
Found waiting for them all 

A fairer feast than ever 

Graced kingly banquet-hall. 

For dishes, carved in queer ways 

That haunt the Chinese mind, 

Bore nuts and fruits from every land 

Familiar to mankind. 

Cassava cakes from Java, 
The solid plantain's meat, 
With chocolate were proffered, 
And maple-sugar sweet. 
Fair pomegranates and soursops, 
With luscious guava jam, 
Stood near the odious durion 
From islands near Siam. 
Bananas, figs, and lemons, 
Dates, cherries, plums, and pears, 
All seemed so very common 
One passed them unawares. 

Amid this festive splendor 
The Prince received his guests ; 
In robes of cocoa woven 
He was superbly drest. 
While from the crown of laurels 
His realm placed on his brow, 
Down to his shoes of caoutchouc, 
He looked a king, I trow. 

: Warm welcomes to my mansion ! " — 
'T was thus he met the King — 

: See what a man you made me 
By your cold banishing ! " 

A genial smile illumined 
The monarch and his train. 
' O Prince! of you I 'm very proud — ■ 
Come to my arms again ! " 
So spake the King, embracing 
His enterprising son, 
And then, with jokes and laughter 
The banquet was begun. 
The court drank so much cider 
They complimentary grew, 
While the King declared the cashew 
Was the finest wine he knew. 
To this the Premier added, 
He hoped the Prince would grow 
Like to the giant banyan, 
And live long here below. 
Then soon the party ended, 
The guests all said " Farewell," 
And the wonders of the woodland 
Thev hastened home to tell. 



By Edward S. Ellis. 

Chapter V, 


There is something indescribably dreadful in 
the emotion which comes over us when the earth 
trembles and rocks with the earthquake. We arc 
so accustomed to look on the ground as a solid and 
sure refuge that, when it fails us, we feel as though 
we were all " at sea " and adrift on a tempest-tossed 

The sensations of Jack, Dollie, and Crab were 
something similar when the cabin, after wrenching 
itself loose from its foundations, went rocking and 
bounding away in the darkness, no one could say 
whither. For a few minutes the children did 
nothing but cling to the roof, which once or twice 
sank almost to a level with the water; but when 
they became accustomed to the situation, they re- 
laxed their desperate hold, spoke to one another, 
and assumed less restrained positions. 

Strange to say, the house, from some cause 
which was not apparent, instead of keeping an up- 
right position, leaned so far to one side that the 
roof became almost horizontal, offering a support 
something like the floor of the cabin itself. 

" One side of the house must be heavier than the 
other," suggested Jack, when the three had re- 
ferred to the curious fact. 

"How much of the cabin am afloat?" asked 

" I know of no way to tell that, " answered Jack. 
" I see that the stone chimney has gone, but some 
of the lower floor must have been left, or the house 
would n't take such an odd position." 

"But will it stay so ?" asked Dollie, anxiously. 

"I think so," said Jack, "for when a house 
starts on a voyage like this, it is apt to settle at 
once to a level — though it may swing over from 
catching fast to the trees Heigho ! " 

It seemed curious, but at that very moment 
the three felt the tops of trees scraping against 
the raft. The swiftness with which they seemed to 
glide from under the cabin showed that the house 
was going down the river very rapidly. The scrap- 
ing sounds followed each other in such rapid suc- 
cession that they knew they were passing through 
or rather over a stretch of forest. 

The night was so dark that the)' could scarcely 
see anything, and the weak rays of the lantern 

were of little service. They could make out one 
another's figures, and now and then catch sight of 
the bushy and bowing top of a tree, which seemed 
to shoot swiftly toward them from out the gloom, 
while the cabin waited for its approach. 

Then again, some of the trees were so tall and 
strong, and so far out of the water, that they did 
not bow dowiii and allow this floating Juggernaut 
to sweep over them. 

At such times, the raft would strike the trees 
with considerable force and swing partly around, 
but the next moment would continue its journey 
without the least slackening of speed. 

There was much danger in passing such places, 
for, if the building should come in contact with 
a particularly large and strong tree, the sides of 
the house were liable to be knocked apart by the 
violence of the collision, and the three children 
might find themselves clinging to separate pieces 
of timber. 

The boys were good swimmers, but Dollie could 
not support herself a single minute above water 
without help. 

Great was their relief, therefore, when the ob- 
structions were all safely passed, and they found 
themselves in smooth water again. There was 
still constant danger, however, of their striking 
against some treacherous " sawyer " ; but that peril 
would continue to threaten them till they should 
reach the channel of the river, where no such ob- 
structions existed. 

"Jack," said Crabapple, presently, "if I are n't 
mistooken, I see a light." 

"So do I," said Dollie, with a promptness which 
showed that she also had been studying the matter. 

" Where ?" asked Jack. 

"Off dar," answered Crab, stretching out his 
hand into the gloom. 

" There is a light," said Jack, after a moment's 
scrutiny: "but it must be a long way off — a 
quarter of a mile, at least." 

"What!" exclaimed Crab, in amazement. "I 
could frow a stone out to whar it am." 

Dollie was of the same belief, but Jack insisted 
that it was all of a quarter of a mile distant, if not 
farther. It is very hard to judge of distances un- 
der such circumstances, and, as the parties could 
not agree, Jack hallooed across the waters, thinking 
with reason that, where a light was visible, there 
must be persons near at hand. But though he 




shouted and whistled, and Crab joined in the 
tumult, no response came back. 

While they were hailing the unknown parties, 
the light suddenly vanished from sight, and all 
around was darkness again. 

"No use ob hollerin','' said Crab; ''de folks 
feel so important dey wont notice us." 

" We don't know that there are any persons 
where we saw the light," said Jack. "And if there 
were, remember that was a good way off, and they 
may not have been able to hear us." 

Crab laughed at this conclusion of Jack's argu- 
ment, but made no answer, though he still believed 
that only a few rods separated them from the star- 
like point which had vanished as unaccountably as 
it had first appeared. 

This curious fact, more than anything else, im- 
pressed them with the vastness of the flood. 
The evidence that others beside themselves were 
afloat spoke vividly of the extent of the overflow- 
ing waters. 

Suddenly the crow of a chanticleer resounded 
across the flood. Somewhere a cock was proclaim- 
ing his defiance of the elements around him. 

" We kin jist as well gib up de shoutin' busi- 
ness," said Crab, finally, " for nobody wont say 
nuffin back to us." 

The three now disposed themselves with the care 
of those who expected to make a long stay. The 
roof having settled so that it lay horizontal on the 
water, this was comparatively an easy matter, and 
could they have felt any assurance that there would 
be no overturning or shifting, they would not have 
considered their situation one of especial danger. 

As nearly as could be told in the darkness, the 
roof was some three or four feet above the current, 
and its bouyancy was such that it would have 
floated ten times the weight that now rested on it. 

Crabapple Jackson rolled his clothing into a 
compact bundle and sat down on it to keep it from 
being lost, while Jack laid the bag containing the 
provisions near the center of the raft and as far as 
possible from the water. Dollie, who had no extra 
garment except a shawl, wrapped that around her 
shoulders and placed herself close to her brother, 
where she meant to stay as long as it was possible. 

The weather remained calm and moderate. Had 
it been otherwise, the hundreds and hundreds of 
people who were then afloat on the Mississippi 
would have suffered 
, '/ . terribly, and many 
must have perished. 


When one of these fowls begins to crow, he gen- 
erally repeats his call several times, and this plucky 
fellow's voice was heard again and again across the 
dark waters until our voyagers were able to locate 
him, and almost in a straight line, several hundred 
yards below them. 

Thinking that the owner of the bird might be 
near, Jack and Crab shouted again, but with no 
more response than in the former case. 


" De light am gwine out ! " suddenly exclaimed 

A glance toward the lantern was enough to show 
he spoke the truth ; the candle which had been 
placed inside had burned so low that little was 
left of it, and the light of that fragment must soon 

" I thought it might have been useful in keep- 
ing others from running into us," said Jack; 

S W E P T A W A Y . 

60 I 

"but, after all, I don't know that it would have 
been of much account." 

" Do you 'spose," suggested Crab, " dat any ob 
de cabins will come down faster dan we do, or dat 
dey will be cotched in such a whirlpool dat dey 
will run up de Massissipp ? " 

"I'm not afraid of that," said Jack; "but it* 


a steamer should strike the house, nothing could 
save us." 

"We must keep awake all de time and watch 
out fur dat sort ob bus'ness," said Crab, with the 
determination that he would not close his eyes 
again so long as darkness brooded over the waters. 

A few minutes later, the bit of tallow dip burn- 
ing in the lantern flickered up, burned brightly a 
few seconds, and then collapsed into nothingness. 
The little party, afloat on the roof of the cabin, 
and sweeping down the Mississippi, were alone in 
the starless night, without a ray of light to cheer 

Chapter VI. 


For several minutes Jack Lawrence had fancied 
he heard a series of strange sounds coming across 
the water. They resembled the deep and rapid 
breathing of some huge animal ; but it was hard 
to tell the direction whence they came. Some- 
times they seemed to be close at hand, then far 
away, and he even found himself glancing upward, 
as though he expected to find the answer he sought 
in the air above him. 

But, during the few minutes he spent in trying 
to ascertain the origin of these sounds, he was 
conscious that, whatever the unknown something 

might be. it was approaching him with the steadi- 
ness of a hand moving over the face of a watch. 

Jack was presently able to locate it. While 
peering down-stream through the darkness, a light 
burst out in the gloom, like the sudden rising of a 
star of the first magnitude. The boy, for a single 
moment, believed it was a star, but the next in- 
stant the truth flashed upon him : it was a steam- 
boat coming up the river. 

" If it was only day-time now," he remarked, as 
he announced his discovery to Dollie and Crab, 
" they would pick us up." 

"What's to hinder 'em from doing it now?" 
asked Crab. 

"A good deal," said Jack, gravely. " It is so 
dark, and the river is running so fast, that they 
would n't be able to manage a small boat." 

"What's de use ob dar doin' dat?" inquired 
Crab. " Dey can jist slide alongside wid de 
steamer itself and h'ist us on board." 

"Not in the night-time, when there is so much 
danger of running us down. But," added Jack, 
interrupting himself, and rising to his feet in some 
alarm, "she is going to pass very close to us. 
Now is the time the lantern would have been of 
some use." 

"We kin yell and make 'em hear us," sug- 
gested Crab ; " den you know I kin whistle like de 
' Warrior ' when she comes to de wharf for wood." 

Crab, who had also risen to his feet, brought the 
palms of his hands together, and then turned them 
partly around, thus forming a peculiar hollow, with 
a small opening between the thumbs, to which he 
placed his thick lips. Then, blowing strongly, he 
produced a sound which, when heard rolling across 
the water, resembled very closely the whistle of a 
steam-boat. It was, of course, impossible that 
Crab's whistle should be so loud, but the pitch was 
precisely that of the whistle of the well-known 
"Warrior," and could easily have been mistaken 
for it. 

The boys, who had ridden up and down the 
Mississippi many times and stud- 

ied the actions j8|t?^%X °^ tne pilot, 
knew most of .^"^'V '-'•/ ----- . the signals, 

and now ^-SStjiS^ utilized 



their knowledge in whistling to the unknown boat 
the signal which directed it to turn to the right, 
with a view of preventing a collision. 




All this time the gleam of the steamer's lights 
was growing rapidly brighter, showing that it was 
approaching swiftly. It continued in such a direct 
line that the boys became seriously alarmed. A 
collision appeared certain, and in such an event, 
as Jack had truly said, nothing could save 
their raft from destruction. 

Crabapple whistled harder than ever, and, as 
though to add emphasis to his signals, danced up 
and down and back and forth on the roof. The 
lights on the steamer still brightened, the glow 
being plainly seen from the top of the smoke- 
stacks, which were throwing off sparks in a manner 
which showed that she was toiling hard to make 
her way against the powerful current. Suddenly, 
the putting of steam stopped, the tinkle of a bell 
was heard, and the captain, who had finally caught 
the signals of Crab, called out in an angry voice, 
wanting to know why the approaching boat had not 
her lights displayed. 

" We have n't any light, 
" our lantern went " 

"Your lantern went out! 
growing still more wrathful. 

called back Jack, 

roared the captain, 
' Have n't you got 

but one lantern on board your old hulk ? Who 
are you, anyway ? Where from ? Where bound?" 

•' We 're the children of Mr. Archibald Law- 
rence," answered Jack, " with his servant, Crab 
Jackson, and we 're floating down the Mississippi 
on the roof of our house." 

'"But I heard the whistle of a steamer just 
now " 

Crab broke in with a loud 

" Dat ar war me, cap'n 


hEShP <©*f% 

augh : 

1 blowed for you 
to slew off to de 
starboard so dat 
we mought pass 
astern ob your 
k bow." 

As the pilot had 


heeded the signal and veered his boat toward the 
channel, the danger of collision, which had been 
so imminent, was now over. 

"Shall we take you aboard?" asked the cap- 

tain, whose feelings had undergone a change the 
instant he learned the truth. 

" If you can, we wish you would," replied Jack; 
" but can you do it ? " 

It will readily be understood that such a rescue as 
the captain contemplated was almost impossible ; 
the current was sweeping downward with such swift- 
ness that a small boat, if it should be lowered and 
sent out, would find it almost beyond its power to 
stem the current : and this fact, taken in connec- 
tion with the darkness of the night, greatly added 
to the difficulty and danger of the undertaking. 
If the steamer should drift down the river with the 
cabin, the boat might pass between them, but even 
then the risk would be very great. 

Yet the rough-spoken though kind-hearted cap- 
tain, ever ready to venture his own life to save that 
of another, prepared to make the attempt. But 
Jack was so strongly of the belief that they would 
thus run greater risks than they incurred by stay- 
ing where they were, that he called to him : 

" We 're much obliged to you, but we would as 
soon stay here till morning." 

" Do you mean that?" called back the captain, 
who was not quite sure he had heard aright. 

" Thanks, all the same, but we would rather 
wait till daylight," replied Jack. " Good-bye ! " 

"You 're a queer lot," was the commentary of 
the captain, as the two crafts drifted apart. 

" Dat shows de needcessity ob keepin' awake," 
observed Crab, as he seated himself on his bundle 
of clothing. 

" It shows that one of us must always be on the 
lookout," said Jack; " but we must have sleep at 
one time or another." 

"You may need it, but / don't," replied Crab, 
in a preternaturally wide-awake tone. 

For a half-hour more the cabin floated silently on 
through the darkness. Dollie still sat close to her 
brother, who presently noticed that her head was 
nodding. He gently lowered it so that it rested 
in his lap, and almost immediately she sank into 
profound slumber. 

•' I don't know that there is any need of both 
yon and me keeping awake at the same time," said 
Jack, speaking to Crab. " I feel wakeful, and you 

may as well gain sleep while you Just what 

I expected ! " 

Crabapple Jackson was also in the land of 

" Everything depends on me now," thought 
Jack Lawrence, at once realizing the situation. " I 
must, indeed, keep my wits about me." 

But in less than half an hour he, too, unused to 
night-watching, and fatigued by the unwonted ex- 
citement of the day, had sunk into a sound and 
dreamless sleep. 



Chapter VII. 
bound for vtcksburg. 

" Hallo ! Hallo-o-o ! " 

The call was repeated several times, and finally 
found its way in a misty and indistinct manner to 
the consciousness of the sleeping Jack Lawrence. 


At first he thought it was a dream, and he mut- 
tered in his slumber. Then, as his senses grad- 
ually returned, he looked up. 

"My gracious! I Ve been asleep!" he ex- 
claimed, gently lifting the head of his unconscious 
sister from his lap and laying it on the sack beside 

Crab, of course, was still dreaming, and Jack 
shuddered to think how remiss he himself had 
been ; they might have gone to destruction for all 
his care of them. 

" Hallo-o ! " again rang across the water, and 
Jack, with a suspicion that he had heard the voice 
before, called back : 

" Hallo-o ! Where are you ? " 

"Afloat, off here to the left of you, I suppose," 
answered the voice. " Who are you ? " 

Jack answered the hail as he had done that of 
the steamer, and his unknown interlocutor imme- 
diately exclaimed : 

" Well, now, that 's too bad, for I 'm to blame for 
all this." 

" How do you make that out ? " asked Jack, in 
some surprise. 

"I 'm Colonel Carrolton," was the reply, "and 
you know I advised you to wait till to-morrow 
before making a move." 

"Yes, but you see I could n't wait," said Jack, 
who remembered the advice but too well. 

"Are you all right?" asked the Colonel, who 
appeared to be in cheery spirits, despite his dismal 

Jack gave a brief account of what had taken 
place since the flood reached the doors of his 
house, and the effusive Colonel congratulated him 
on his good fortune. 

"How are you fixed ? " asked Jack. 

" The same as usual — on a hen-coop," was the 

"Any other passengers ? " asked Jack, with an 
irrepressible laugh at the ludicrous similarity of 
the Colonel's aquatic misfortunes. 

"Yes," said the Colonel, "I 've got two — a 
fighting cock and a hen, and I shall try and take 
them through this time. " 

" Our stock is all drowned, I suppose," continued 
Jack. " But where are you going now? " 

"To Vicksburg, of course," replied the Colonel, 
in a very matter-of-fact tone. " Every time after 
this that there comes a flood, I expect to go down 
there in this style. I shall tell my friends there 
to keep a lookout for a big hen-coop whenever the 
Mississippi rises ; and, when they see one, they 
may make up their mind that I 'm somewhere 
about it. Shut up there ! " 

This last remark was addressed to the game- 
cock, which just then essayed a defiant crow — 
rudely cut short, however, by the Colonel, who 
compressed the bird's neck in such a manner that 
the salute was extinguished before it was fairly 

" I don't mind one blast," explained the Colonel, 
" but, when he starts, he never stops till he has 
crowed a dozen times or more, and I 'm tired 
of it." 

" We heard a rooster some time ago," said Jack. 
" I wonder whether it was yours ?" 

"No," was the reply, "for I 've shut him off 
every time he started, till I think it 's time he be- 
gan to feel discouraged. But it seems to me I 'm 
going down-stream faster than you are." 

Such was undoubtedly the case — the space be- 
tween them was growing perceptibly greater every 
minute. This was due to the fact that the Colonel 
had floated into a swifter current. Then, too,- he 
was nearer the channel, though that would not have 
affected his speed under the present circumstances, 
when the expansion of the river was so prodigious. 
The Colonel, who had lived 
along the turbulent Missis- 
sippi until he was thoroughly 
accustomed to its moods, and 
who was one of those men who 
accepted every event of life 
with true philosophy, kept up 
a rambling but cheerful inter- 
change of remarks with Jack, 
until the increasing distance 
made conversation too much of 
an effort. Then they shouted 
a good-bye to each other, and the curious interview 

Jack was so afraid of again falling asleep that 
he assumed a standing position, picking up the 





gun and leaning on that, like a hunter absorbed in 

" I never heard of a man who stood up without 
any support going to sleep, so I 'm safe so long as 
I don't sit down," was the logical conclusion of 
the tired boy. 


A few words of explanation are necessary to en- 
able the reader to appreciate the situation of young 
Jack Lawrence and his companions at this time. 
They were approaching a section of Arkansas 
bounded by the converging White and Mississippi 
rivers, and which was overflowed not only between 
these two mighty streams, but for a great distance 
on the western bank of the former and the eastern 
bank of the latter. The width of the submerged 
lands varied from ten to a hundred or more miles. 
The children were, as you see, really afloat on a 
vast sea, which was sweeping southward with great 
velocity, and bearing on its surface houses, cabins, 
barns, boats, trees, and everything else of sufficient 
buoyancy to float. 

All around our youthful voyagers was engulfed 
in thick darkness. The sky was so clouded that 
not the first glimmer of a star nor the faintest 
gleam of the moon could be seen. There was 
little air stirring, though now and then a cool puff 
struck the cheek of the lonely watcher. As much 
of the water came from the country around the 
head-waters of the Mississippi, its coldness lent an 
unwonted chill to the atmosphere. 

The surface of the Mississippi was comparatively 
smooth, though now and then something would 
produce a whirling eddy in the current, which 
would cause the waves to plash against the logs. 
But the sensation was as if the raft was standing 
still on the bosom of the mighty expanse of muddy 

Suddenly they were swept into a whirlpool, 
which began swinging the raft around with such 
velocity that Jack was greatly alarmed. It seemed 
as if the building had become a gigantic top, 
which spun about until the frightened lad became 

so dizzy he was forced to lie down on the roof to 
keep from rolling off. 

Just as he was on the point of awakening Dollie 
and Crab, the floating building swung out of the 
whirlpool and acquired a steadier motion, though 
it continued to revolve slowly for a considerable 

Jack had been so well shaken up that he was 
sure nothing could lull him to sleep again that 
night. But, through fear of losing himself, he 
prudently resumed his tiresome standing posture, 
grasping his gun as if he were prepared to " repel 

Dollie stirred uneasily, and her brother noticed 
that she was talking in her sleep. As he stood 
close to her, listening, he presently caught the 
broken words : 

"Good-night, Mamma — kiss me to sleep — 
there — good-night — kiss me, too, Papa " 

Poor girl ! In her dreams she was with her 
father and mother, though one had been in heaven 
many months, and the other was hundreds of miles 
distant, and wholly ignorant of the perils to which 
his children were exposed in these hours of dark- 
ness and wide-spread devastation. 

Jack sighed deeply as he recalled the sad hour 
when he had kissed his mother for the last time, 
and the eyes which had always looked upon him 


and Dollie with such fond love had faded out for- 

Many a time had the brave-souled fellow lived 
over the sorrowful moments, as he did now, and 
many a time, when no human eye saw him, the 
tears had silently trickled down his cheeks. He 
gave himself up for a time to the saddening mem- 
ories, and then, with a great effort, tried to throw 
off the depressing weight. 



Something cold struck the uppermost hand rest- 
ing on the gun. it was a drop of rain, and he 
started and looked up. 

" If a storm is coming, we shall be in a bad fix," 
he said, remembering, with a feeling of tender anx- 
iety for his delicate sister, that they had no means 
of placing the slightest covering over themselves. 

Fortunately, however, only a few drops fell. 
When the cloud from which they came had passed 
over, Jack drew a deep breath of relief, for he might 
well dread the discomforts and miseries that would 
be theirs in case of a fall of rain. 

A long distance to the eastward, toward the 
Mississippi shore, a faint glow was now dimly 
visible, gliding along toward the northward. List- 
ening attentively, Jack could faintly hear the throb- 
bing noise made by the engines of another steamer 
which was laboring upward against the flood ; but 
he would not have signaled to it, even had it been 
within hailing distance. 

" I would rather stay where I am until morn- 
ing/' he thought, watching the glow-worm like 
light until it vanished in the darkness. " There 's 
no saying where we may strike or what may hap- 
pen to us ; but, come what will, it 's the best thing 
we can do." 

The boy had no means of telling how long he 
had slept, but he rightly thought that it must be 
now after midnight. 

Chapter VIII. 


Never did the hours seem so dismal and long 
to Jack Lawrence as when floating down the Mis- 
sissippi on that memorable night, keeping his 
lonely watch. Once or twice he started to pace 
back and forth, but his quarters were so narrow 
that he found himself in danger of stepping off; 
so he gave up the attempt. 

But, with true grit, he never once sat down dur- 
ing those long hours. While Dollie and Crab were 
sleeping as soundly as though in their own beds. 
Jack continued his lookout for danger. 

At last it began to grow light in the direction of 
the Mississippi shore, and presently, to his infinite 
relief, the beams of the rising sun illumined the 
vast waste of waters. 

The scene presented to his gaze was one of deso- 
lation indeed. In every direction the turbid cur- 
rent bounded the horizon. For all he could see to 
the contrary, he might have been floating over the 
waters of the Gulf of Mexico, or even in the very 
center of the Atlantic itself. Nowhere could his 
straining eye catch the first glimpse of land ; even 
the towering bluffs along shore were under water, 
and it was impossible for Jack to tell whether he 

was drifting over the real bed of the Mississippi, 
or whether he was fifteen or twenty miles from it. 
But one thing was certain : he was somewhere on 
the flood, which may have been fifty or a hundred 
feet deep under him, and he was being borne he 
knew not whither. 

A long distance to the westward was a group of 
cabins floating downward together, looking, as Jack 
fancied, something like a flock of crows sailing 
across the sky. They undoubtedly had once com- 
posed a village or town, the 
buildings of which had started 
for the Gulf with singular 
unanimity. People could be 
plainly seen on the roofs. On 
one a number of mules and 
cows were grouped, while from 
several others smoke was ris- 
ing, showing that the occu- 
pants had rigged up some sort 
of cooking ar- 

To the east- 
ward were six or 
eight other cab- 
ins, the most of 
which had peo- 
ple on top — all 
negroes. The 
nearest house 
seemed to have fully a dozen. A fire was burning, 
and while one — a large, fat negress, with a red 
handkerchief tied about her head — was preparing 
the best breakfast she could under the circum- 
stances, the others were singing and dancing as 
they used to on the old plantations before the war. 
There were musical voices among them, which 
came floating pleasantly across the water, and 
altogether the scene was a strange one. Between 
each verse, a couple of barefooted darkeys, wear- 
ing immense flapping strawhats, danced a " double- 
shuffle " with tremendous vigor, while the brethren 
and sisters sang and swayed their bodies by way 
of accompaniment, , even the cook, forget- 

ting her culinary _Jq_ duties for the mo- 
ment, joining /^^/^ii§\/\ ' n trie chorus. It 
seemed as "^/s^^f \mh \ though there 
might be / ' JA lk\ i: 1 < danger of 

the whole \' ( ™ 
the roof; 

doubtful " DE BAG °' peeot s ions 

the certainty of such a catastrophe would 
checked the negroes when once they were 


launched upon the flood-tide of their song, 
following melody appeared to be one of 
greatest favorites : 

of them 


but it is 

if even 









- >— I — a-* — *■ 



0-- — 0- 


-P— 9- 

-V^ 5 P.- 

We're gwine to de camp meetin', Ou de road, on de road, We'll hab a hap-py meetin', 


h»f\ — « ,*— « — * — — P> — 1 - 


:^— -fc h 5 —*— e £>-■-»— # — k— S— r — p,:-p, — p»^p_->, _i_q 

d — d*-*— i — -p-d— h y— I ^ — ^ — /— h-- — Pi-* — i — Pi— 1 — A 

■ l-T-l—e— c—J—'-.-frJ — &-\ — _ .. z=^iE*-ir*i^rzg^;^*Td 

On de road, yes.on de road; Den iine in on de chorus, On de road, on de road ; Out-sing dem folks before us, 

CHORUS. — Soprano. 


h 5 — ^=P=n^ — p s ■ -N- 1— ^=: 

— K Pi — 1-; — 

— I — j - 

On de road, while on de road. We're e'wine to de camp meetin', 


Sing, brudder, sing ; We 

— h- 
— i — 


v ?>^-P 

-0 — — « P — — 0-- 

• 9 # _ 



—Pi fel P 

P< — 1 |t- 

-0—0 —0* 0—0- 0—0—^ 

We sing, we sing, we sing, we sing, 
N T - 

s s— i- s — »— •— •— i^H 

We're gwiue to de camp meetin', We sing, we sing, we sing, we sing, We 





4- n/ — i — — (— 

y r— 


J- y 

v v ?- 

— P- 

fe— N- 

-N— i 


-* — * — i 

Sing, brudders, sing, we sing, 


# + — i Pi-* 1 Pi 1 

t— f-0— — * — * * -I *- T — 

gib you all a greet-in', 


sis- ter, sing, 

We're on de road to glo - ry ; 

— P P.— -Pi- ■ — =T Pi-F— Pi k k k P. P. P P 

-»——»—• — ^— h — r -q:^— ^ — *=3 — * — — 0^0 


P, P.--P- 

— I Pi — ' — 

We sing, we sing, we sing, we sing 



-V — '/ — y — y — y — y 

J— p, 5=^5 — ^ — q q 

0— I— I h-J 1 Pi 1 

\-0- 0—t- 1 0— 

■y — u- 1 - — — ' 

gib you all a greet -in', We sing, we sing, we sing, we sing, We're on de road to glo - ry ; 



-0 — — 0- 


— y — y 

sis - ter, sing, we sing, 


-$—y — t?" 


-0 0--—0—t, C £ N-F— N £■— ^ Pi ii ^ — 

1 1 y— 1/ ^ '/ 1 — ! Pi-j H Pi — 3— 



Don't you hear de bu - gle call, We'll tell de hap - py sto - ry Un-to all un - to all. 

— — — *—— m^-e-^i — •— ? — F" *-.— «— * h — 0-.-\ — g — —0^0 — • — 0— \\ 

Don't you hear de bu - gle call, We'll tell de hap - py sto - ry Un-to all,.... un - to all. 


-» — * — 0- 

-1 — p— ■ — 1 — 

-y — y — -y- 


_*--^«_f — — : — -_i _^^= — # — * — «_n 

1/ T_y y y g -" 

Yes, on de road to glory, 

On de road — on de road- 

We '11 tell de happy story, 

On de road — on de road ; 

Keep time unto de marches, 

On de road — on de road — 

We '11 shout frough heaben's arches — 
On de road — while on de road. 


i88 3 .) 



Come, go vvid us to heaben, 

On de road — on de road — 
Dar day shall hab no eben, 

On de road, yes, on de road ; 
We '11 hab a happy meetin ', 

On de road, yes, on de road — 
In hcaben's own camp-meetin', 

On de road — while on de road. 


Chapter IX. 


Jack was looking toward the negroes and listen- 
ing to their strange and impressive singing, when 
Crabapple Jackson gave a prodigious yawn, slowly 
opened his eyes, raised his head on his elbow, and 
then stared about him in a confused manner for 
several minutes. He presently came to himself 
sufficiently to inquire : 

" Jack, is dem perwisions dar? " 

"Yes; there 's the bag," was the reply. 

"Wall," continued Crab, "does n't you tink 
dat dis am a good time to lighten de weight ob 
de bag ? " 

" I don't know but that you are right, Crab," 

responded Jack. " We '11 awaken Dollie 

Ah ! she has saved us the trouble." 

The little girl was indeed wide-awake. After 
a quick glance at her surroundings she recalled 
everything, and then, as was always her custom, 
bowed her head in prayer; seeing which action, 
Crab was recalled to his duty and did the same. 
Jack had already, before the others were awake, 
invoked the care of his Heavenly Father in the un- 
known penis that still awaited them. 

Although the water did not look very inviting, 
the children leaned over the edge of the cabin and 
washed their faces and hands in the stream, after 
which they quenched their thirst. 

" We 're better off than shipwrecked persons in 
one respect," said Jack, as Dollie began taking the 
food from the bag ; " we can never die from thirst, 
as they often do." 

" De Massissipp don't look wery invitin'," said 
Crab, "and when we fust come from old Kain- 
tuck I war shuah dat I neber could drink it; but 
I hab got so now dat I kinder like it." 

" There 's nothing strange in that," said Jack, 
" for river-men grow to like it better than anything 

" 'Ceptin' whisky," amended Crab. 

"I mean, better than any other water, even 
that from the clearest spring," explained Jack. 
" Hark ! " 

The singing of the negroes on the nearest cabin 
had stopped some minutes before, but now one of 
them was heard speaking in a loud voice. 

Looking toward them, the children saw that the 
whole party were kneeling, while one of their 
number, evidently an exhorter or preacher, was 
leading in prayer. 

The scene was an impressive one, and our young 
voyagers could not but join them in spirit. The 
plea of the African was touching in its earnestness 
and simplicity. He had a rich, sonorous voice, 
which was mellowed and softened in its passage 
across the water to their ears. 

The negroes must have been hungry, but this 
fact did not prevent their leader from making his 
petition as long and all-embracing as he was ac- 
customed to make it when exhorting his brethren 
and sisters in their cabin at home. 

Meantime, the three children began their own 
breakfast. Jack found it necessary to limit the ex- 
tent of Crab's repast, or but little would have been 
left for the future. 

" What 's de use ob bein' so partic'lar ? " asked 
the disappointed darkey. " Like enuff dar '11 be 
some steamer along to-day and take us off, and den 
we kin get all we want to eat without starvin' 
ourselves now." 

" There 's no danger of starving as long as we 
can get one meal a day, such as you have just 
eaten," said Jack. 

" But don't you expect to be taken off to-day ? " 
asked Dollie, as she carefully put away the remains 
of the meal. 

" I hope so," answered her brother; "but there 
is n't any certainty. Don't you see that the river is 
so wide here that we can't begin to see either shore ? 
The flood may stretch out fifty or even a hundred 
miles further, for we are not yet out of the lowlands 
of Arkansas." 

"What 's dat got to do wid de steam-boat taking 
us off?" asked Crab, with some sullenness. He 
evidently had no fancy for any theory, however 
plausible, that was likely to stand in the way of his 
seemingly unappeasable appetite. 

" A good deal," said Jack, decidedly. "There 
are not half enough steamers on the' Mississippi to 
cover such a lot of water. We may drift all the 
way to New Orleans before being picked up. 
That will take several days, supposing we are not 
delayed by any accident ; and what shall we do in 
the meantime if our provisions give out ? " 

" And then," added Dollie, whose tender heart 
was always remembering others, "there must be a 
good many who have nothing at all to eat, and 
we may have a chance to share with them." 

Crab found he was outvoted, and so said no 
more, though he looked longingly at the bag 
which contained the food, for which he seemed 
always to be craving. 

Our young friends now observed that the roof 




was much nearer the water than before. This at 
first caused some uneasiness, but there was really 
no occasion for it. A large part of the cabin be- 
neath had been loosened so that it had come apart 
and floated away, leaving so much less to support 

But had nothing save the roof remained, that 
alone would have sufficed to carry them safely, so 
long as no unexpected danger interfered. 

Suddenly, and without the least warning, the 
raft, which had all along been floating downward 
at a swift and uniform rate of speed, stood still. The 
check was so instantaneous and violent that all three 
were thrown down, and Crab, who happened to be 
on the lower edge, escaped going overboard by a 
hair's-breadth only. 

This sudden stoppage caused the water to strike 
the upper end of the roof with such force that it 
boiled and foamed over the edge, threatening to 
submerge the whole structure. 

The little party were for a few minutes terribly 
frightened. Unable to understand what had hap- 
pened, and bewildered by the suddenness of the 
accident, they at first feared that the entire raft 
was about to be torn asunder. 

But as nothing of the kind took place, they pres- 
ently concluded that something beneath, most 
probably the branches of a tree which did not 
quite reach the surface, had become entangled in 
the logs of their raft. This was indeed what had 
happened. For the time, the building was held 
as immovably as if securely tied to a wharf. 

(To be cojitimied.) 





By Ernest Ingersoll. 

I have lately been visiting a gentleman whom I 
should like to tell about. He lives on the banks 
of the Delaware River, not far from Trenton, New 
Jersey. The place was the seat of an old Quaker 
neighborhood long before the Revolution, and 
Washington's soldiers passed along its roads and 
crossed its fields many a time. And later, many 
men who became famous, particularly as natural- 
ists, have lived or visited there. 

The Delaware River below Trenton is bordered 
by very wide flats, known as "The Meadows." 
At one place, fully a mile from the river, a long, 
steep bank rises to the level of the farming-lands 
behind, and shows the ancient limit of the river- 
freshets. In a beautiful grove on the summit of 
this bluff stands the picturesque old home of my 
friend, with its group of barns and sunny gardens 
about it, and the broad grain-fields behind. Thus 
pleasantly placed for hearing and seeing what goes 
on out-of-doors, this gentleman has taught himself 
to be one of the best field naturalists in the world. 
By " field naturalist " I mean one who finds out the 
appearance and habits of plants and animals as 
they are when alive and in their own homes, and 
who does not content himself merely with reading 
what others write about them. 

It is very delightful to talk with this gentleman, 
and to see how well he is acquainted with the birds 
and the four-footed animals of his district, all of 
which are under his jealous protection. He has 
half a dozen little "tracts" within a mile of his 
house, each of which is tenanted by a partly dif- 
ferent class of plants and animals, so that there is 
never any lack of variety in his studies. The truth 
of this will not seem clear to you at first, perhaps, 
because you are accustomed to think that, in order 
to find any great diversity in outdoor life, you must 
search through great spaces of country. But my 
friend's farm would show you that a great man)' 
little differences are ordinarily overlooked, which, 
when you come to know them, are seen to be real 
and important. And this can be proven in one 
place about as well as in another. 

For instance, it is easy to divide the estate I 
am speaking of into four districts, so far as natural 
history is concerned. First, there are the upland 
fields and house-gardens ; second, the steep hill- 
side, grown dense with trees and tangled shrubbery ; 
next, the broad, treeless, lowland meadows ; and 

Vol. X. — 39. 

lastly, the creek, with its still, shaded waters, marshy 
nooks, and flowery banks. 

Now, while there are many trees, bushes, and 
weeds that are common to all these four districts, 
it is also true that each of the districts has a num- 
ber of plants and animals that are not to be found 
in the others. You would not expect to get water- 
snakes, muskrats, or any wading birds on the high 
fields behind the house, nor do the woodchucks, 
quails, and vesper-sparrows of the hill-top go down 
among the sycamores by the creek. One quickly 
gets a hint here of the great fact that any species of 
animal or plant may be spread over a whole State, 
or half the continent, yet, nevertheless, be found 
only on that kind of ground which is best suited to 
it. One of the first things a naturalist has to learn, 
therefore, in respect to an animal whose habits he 
wishes to study, is what sort of surroundings it loves, 
and he will be surprised, particularly in the case 
of the smaller creatures, to learn how careful ani- 
mals are in this matter, since upon it, as a rule, 
depends their food and safety. There are certain 
snails, for example, which my friend finds in one 
corner of his farm and never anywhere else. A 
pair of Bewick's wrens have lived in his wagon- 
house for some years, but they are the only pair in 
the whole county. It would be no use for him to 
look anywhere than on his bush-grown hill-side 
for the worm-eating warbler, the morning warbler, 
or the chat, though his gardens up above entice 
many other birds. Similarly, if the bird called 
the rail decides to make its home on his land, it 
will not settle along the creek, but in a marshy 
part of his meadows. I might mention a large 
number of these examples, but these will suffice. 

For more than twenty years my friend has 
been diligently studying this single square mile 
around his house. One would think he knew it 
pretty well by this time, and he does — better, I 
believe, than any other square mile is known in 
the United States. He can tell you, and has 
written down, a hundred things about our com- 
mon animals which are real news ; yet he thinks 
that he has only begun, and is finding out some- 
thing more every few days. 

Here is an instance : 

Forty years ago, or more, a small, brightly 
spotted turtle was described as living near Phila- 
delphia, and two miserable specimens were sent 




to Professor Agassiz. It was called Muhlenberg's 
turtle, and since then not one has been seen until 
last summer. My friend was always on the lookout, 
never failing to pick up or turn over every small 
turtle he met on the meadows or along the creek, 
and examine whether the marks on its under shell 
were those of the lost species. Finally, one of the 
ditches in the meadows was drained off to be re- 
paired, and there, within a short distance, were 
picked up six Muhlenberg turtles! If you go to 
Cambridge, Mass. , you can see four of them alive 
and healthy to-day. They could easily have gone 
out of that ditch into other ditches, and so into 
the creek ; but, if they ever did, they have suc- 
ceeded for twenty years in escaping some pretty 
sharp eyes that would have been very glad to 
see them. 

This little incident has a moral for us in two 
ways. One is, that often the apparent rarity of an 
animal comes from the fact that we don't know 
where to look for it ; and the other, that it takes 
a practiced eye to know it when we have found 
it, and to take care that it does n't get lost sight 
of again. Practice your methods of observation, 
then, without ceasing. You can not make discov- 
eries in any other way. And the cultivation of 

the habit will be of inestimable advantage to you 
in many ways. 

This is the merest hint of how, without going 
away from home, by always keeping his eyes open, 
a man, or a boy or a girl can study, to the great 
advantage and enjoyment not only of himself (or 
herself), but to the help of all the rest of us. I 
should like to tell you how patiently the naturalist 
watches the ways of the wary birds and small game 
he loves ; how those sunfish and shy darters forget 
that he is looking quietly down through the still 
water, and go on with their daily life as he wants 
to witness it ; how he drifts silently at midnight, 
hid in his boat, close to the timid heron, and sees 
him strike at his prey; or how, concealed in the 
topmost branches of a leafy tree, he overlooks the 
water-birds drilling their little ones, and smiles at 
the play of a pair of rare otters, whose noses would 
not be in sight an instant did they suppose any 
one was looking at them. But I can not recount 
all his vigils and ingenious experiments, or the 
entertaining facts they bring to our knowledge, 
since my object now is only to give you a sugges- 
tion of how much one man may do and learn on 
a single farm in the most thickly settled part of 
the United States. 

"ff'ffi VW 


i% ^is^-sgrfwtofe^ 


Trio of Naturalists: "How now? Six legs! And a dwarf, at that!' 





By Lizzie L. Gould. 

I KNOW a little lady 
Who wears a hat of green, 
All- trimmed with red, red roses, 
And a blackbird on the brim. 

She ties it down with ribbons, 
Under her dimpled chin : 
For oftentimes it 's breezy 
When she comes tripping in. 

She '11 drop a dainty courtesy, 
Perhaps she '11 throw a kiss ; 
She brings so many hundred 
That one she '11 never miss. 

With laughing, sunny glances 
She comes, her friends to greet: 
There 's not another maiden 
In all the world so sweet ! 

Her name ? The roses tell you ! 
'T is in the blackbird's tune ! 
This smiling little lady 
Is just our own dear June ! 

'^ft& i JS* 



By Frank K. Stockton. 

"Rather an inhospitable refuge," said Rob 
Clinton, with a laugh — "ragged rocks for those 
who come from the sea, and bare sands for those 
from the land." 

" Yet it is when we are among ragged rocks 
and bare sands," said Mrs. Eustace, who stood by 
him, " that we want a refuge, you wise boy. And 
there is the house, which is the real refuge." 

"I was n't thinking of the house," said Rob; 
"but perhaps, on a stormy night, it might be 
better than the rocks and sands, though at pres- 
ent 1 don't think so. But Mr. Eustace is calling 
us. He and the girls have regularly gone into 
refuge on the piazza. " 

The Eustace party, which now found itself in a 
lonely " House of Refuge " for shipwrecked sailors 

on the Atlantic coast of Florida, consisted of Mr. 
and Mrs. Eustace, their nephew Phil, with his two 
sisters, and Rob Clinton, Phil's school-fellow and 
best friend. They were taking a trip down the 
Indian River in two sail-boats, and the captain 
and owner of the larger of these two boats — the 
"Wanda" — had selected this place as a very 
suitable spot at which to moor their craft and pass 
the night. For a hundred miles or more the party 
had heard the roar and moan of the ocean on the 
other side of the narrow strip of land which sepa- 
rates the Indian River from the Atlantic. But, 
until now, they had not crossed the barrier. Here 
the high bank of sand and rock on which the 
"House of Refuge" stood was so narrow one 
could almost throw a stone from the quiet waters 




of the river into the roaring surf on the other 

The keeper of the Refuge, a young man named 
Norman, who, with his wife and child, lived in this 
lonely house, met the visitors with a glad welcome. 
He had little to offer them save the shade of the 
broad piazza which fronted on the ocean; but this 
was all they wanted, and, on his part, it was de- 
lightful to him to see again some human beings 
from the outside world. 

Our party remained on the beach until long 
after sunset. Mr. Eustace was not strong, and he 
sat upon the warm sand : but Mrs. Eustace and 
the girls, with Rob and Phil, wandered about 
among the great twisted and jagged rocks, at the 
foot of which the waves rolled and tumbled. The 
unceasing roar of the incoming surf, the splendors 
of the setting sun reflected on the eastern sky, the 
great pelicans swooping along over the crests of 
the breakers, and the far-stretching ocean itself, 
made a scene so grand and impressive that our 
friends could not bear to tear themselves away. 
Darkness had almost set in, and the good-natured 
captain of the "Wanda" had three times called 
them to supper before they would leave the beach. 

In the evening, by Norman's invitation, they 
came up to the house and sat in what he 
called his parlor, a large, bare room, furnished 
with a desk and some rickety chairs and stools. 
This house had once been a life-saving station, 
Norman told them, but it was now simply a place 
of refuge and shelter for sailors and other ship- 
wrecked persons who might be cast upon this 
beach. Above and below, at distances of a few 
miles apart, sign-boards were set up on the beach, 
on which were painted, in two or three languages, 
directions by which the House of Refuge might be 
found. In the second story of the long, low build- 
ing were a number of small beds, and the Govern- 
ment kept here always a goodly supply of hard 
bread and salted meats. 

"In the boat-house down there," said Norman, 
" are two life-boats. They are of no use now, as I 
am the only man at this place. All I can do is to 
take care of an) - poor fellows who are lucky enough 
to get themselves ashore from a wreck. But it 
is n't often we have wrecks on this coast, and if it 
was n't for a hunter or fisherman now and then. 
and the people on board the supply-ship when that 
comes along,, we should be pretty hard up for 

When our friends went down to their boat, 
about nine o'clock, they found that the air had 
grown colder and that a strong wind was blowing 
from the sea. The boats lay under the lee of the 
land, but their occupants were a good deal rocked 
that night, for the wind grew stronger and stronger. 

In the morning, Captain Silas told the party that 
he expected to tie up at this place all day. There 
was a big storm coming up, and the Indian River 
in a gale was no place for a top-heavy boat like the 

After, breakfast, everybody went over to the beach. 
There, for the first time in their lives, they saw a 
real storm at sea. It did not rain, but the sky was 
full of scudding clouds, the water was in wild 
commotion, and the waves dashed high over the 
rocks on which the young people had stood the 
evening before. The wind and the spray soon 
obliged Mr. and Mrs. Eustace and the girls to go 
into the house, where they watched the stormy 
scene from the windows. But Phil and Rob put 
on their heavy coats, and remained upon the beach. 
Rob was a tall young fellow, with a full chest, and 
big muscles on his arms. He was fond of base- 
ball and boating, and delighted in athletic sports 
and outdoor life. Phil was of slighter build, and, 
though healthy and active, had distinguished him- 
self much more in the study of the classics and 
mathematics than in boyish games and exer- 
cises. Scill, it must not be supposed that, because 
he did not excel in these latter pursuits, he did not 
care to do so. Like many another boy of spirit, he 
was just as anxious to perform those manly deeds 
to which he was little used, and which were not 
expected of him at all, as to be thought proficient 
in his studies. For instance, it would give him as 
much pride and pleasure to successfully sail a boat 
in a stiff breeze as to work out the hardest problem 
in differential calculus. He was of a quiet dispo- 
sition, and had had little opportunity of engaging 
in what are called manly exercises. But he had a 
manly spirit, and often envied Rob the dash and 
courage that carried him at once into the front of 
every sport and adventure. Rob frequently took 
the tiller of the "Mary," the smaller boat on which 
the boys generally sailed, when Joe Miles, the 
boatman, was busy forward. Phil, too, would have 
liked nothing better than to take his turn at steer- 
ing, but somehow it had never occurred to Joe to 
ask him, and Phil was too sensitive to offer his 
services : still, he could not help feeling a little sore 
that Joe should never think of him as a person 
who could steer a boat. 

The storm continued, the wind growing stronger 
as the day progressed, and finally even the boys 
were glad to take shelter in the house. About noon 
Norman cal>?d the whole party out on the porch. 
"Look out there!" he cried, pointing over the 
tossing waves. Plainly in sight for an instant, 
then lost behind the heaving billows, then up again 
in view, was seen the hull of a large vessel, appar- 
ently two or three miles from shore. 

" She was a three-masted schooner." shouted 




PAGE 615.) 

Norman, " but she 's a no-masted one now. She 
is driving before the wind right on shore ! " 

"Do you think there is anybody in her?" 
cried Mrs. Eustace. 

" I reckon so," answered Norman. " She 
seems all right, except that her masts are gone. 
The storm is worse out at sea than it is here. I 
reckon we 're only on the edge of it." 

" Will she be driven on these rocks ? " asked Mr. 
Eustace, the noise of the surf making it necessary 
to shout the words into Norman's ear. 

''Can't say," answered the keeper. "She's 
more likely to come in a mile or two below here." 

" And what will you do then ? " asked Rob, 

"I '11 go down and help all 1 can," returned 

" And we '11 go with you ! " cried both the boys 

Mr. Eustace and the girls now went into the 
house, but Mrs. Eustace, well wrapped up, re- 
mained on the porch with the boys and Norman, 
where Silas, the captain of the " Wanda," with the 
colored man, his assistant, and Joe Miles, soon 
joined them. 

The wind now shifted, blowing more directly 
from the east, and the men predicted that the ves- 
sel would come ashore close to the house. 

" Shall you get out a boat ? " asked Rob. 

" If she comes in here there wont be any need 
of boats," Norman answered. " She '11 drive right 

up on the rocks in front of us. The water is deep 
enough, a dozen yards from low-tide mark, to float 
a big ship at any time. She '11 come close in, if 
she comes at all." 

" Then what she has got to do," said Silas, "is 
to drop her anchors as soon as she gets in sound- 
ings. If they hold where the water is deep enough, 
she may be all right yet." 

On came the dismasted vessel, tossing, pitching, 
and rolling, and making almost directly toward the 
House of Refuge. 

" She is American," said Norman.. Except 
these words, no one spoke, but with rapidly 
beating hearts all stood and watched the incom- 
ing and helpless vessel. The captain of the 
schooner evidently saw his only chance of safety, 
for, when apparently but a few hundred yards 
from shore, a man was seen to throw a lead, and 
very soon afterward two anchors went down, one 
at the bow and one at the stern. 

Now came a moment of intense anxiety. Would 
the anchors hold ? 

On came the vessel. " She 's got to let out 
cable ! " said Norman, and in a few moments her 
shoreward course was arrested. She rolled and 
pitched, but came no nearer the dreadful rocks. 

" They 're holdin' ! " cried Silas, as he waved 
his hat above his head, and if it had not been for the 
noise of the surf his voice could have been heard 
on board of the vessel, where many men could be 
seen about the decks. 




" But there 's no knowin' how long they '11 hold," 
said Norman. " Them breakers are givin' them 
an awful strain." 

" Is n't there any way of saving those people ?" 
cried Mr. Eustace, coming out in great excitement. 

" She 'd be all right if she could hold out till 
the storm is over," said Silas. 

"But if one of them anchors or hawsers gives 
way," said Norman, " the other wont hold her, 
and she '11 come smashing right on to these rocks ! 
What the people on that vessel ought to do is to get 
on shore as soon as they can ; but there 's not a 
boat on her davits. She 's been caught in some 
sort of a cyclone, and everything has been swept 

"Can't you go out in one of these boats and 
take the people off?" said Mr. Eustace. 

"I '11 go out in the small boat," said Norman, 
" if these men will help me; and then, if we can 
bring some of the crew ashore, we can man the big 
life-boat and take them all off, if there is time and 
the boats don't capsize." 

" I would go with you in a moment," said Mr. 
Eustace, " if I was strong enough to pull an oar." 

Everybody was now on the piazza, and the 
general excitement was so great that even the girls 
did not seem to notice the fierce wind and the 
spray which every minute or two swept in from the 
sea. The men on the vessel, apparently to the 
number of fifteen or twenty, were scattered about 
the deck, holding on to parts of the wreck, and all 
anxiously gazing toward shore. Now and then one 
of them waved a handkerchief or a cap. It was 
very likely that, seeing the boat-house and the 
larger building, they judged that this was a life-sav- 
ing station, — perhaps some of them knew that it 
used to be such, — and they, doubtless, wondered 
why the boat had not already put out to their rescue. 

" If you three men," said Norman, addressing 
Silas, Joe Miles, and the negro Tom, "will each 
take an oar, and one of these young gentlemen 
will steer, we '11 get out the little boat, and pull to 
the schooner." 

"We '11 go," said Silas, speaking for himself 
and the other two, ' ' but I reckon these young 
men '11 be afraid to venture out in a sea like that." 

"Afraid!" cried both boys in a breath. And 
then Rob added, " There is no danger of our being 
afraid, is there, Phil ? " 

" Well then, if one of you '11 go," said Norman, 
" we are all right." And he hurriedly led the way 
to the boat-house. 

Mr. Eustace and the girls retired into the house ; 
but Mrs. Eustace, filled with the excitement of the 
moment, drew her shawl around her head, and 
followed the men. It did not take long to run the 
small boat out of the boat-house, and over the 

smooth sand to the water's edge; then the men 
buckled on their life-preservers, four oars were 
quickly put aboard, the row-locks fixed, the rud- 
der shipped, and she was ready to launch. 

"Now, which of you is going? " cried Norman. 

Phil said not a word, but his eyes sparkled. 

" Can't we both go? " asked Rob. 

" No," said Silas, who stood nearest, "there 's 
no need of two, and the other one would just take 
up the room of a man from the wreck. The boat 
is small enough, anyway." 

"Come, hurry up!" cried Norman, who had 
taken hold of the side of the boat, " and make up 
your minds which of you is goin'. It is enough to 
make you afraid, I know ; but one of you promised 
to go, and you 're in for it now ! Jump in, one of 
you, and we '11 run her out ! " 

The men now stood, two on each side of the 
boat, ready to push her out behind the next out- 
going breaker. Just at this moment there came 
through the storm the first sound that had been 
heard from the ship. It might have been the 
scream of a bird or an animal, but it sounded 
wonderfully like the cry of a child. 

" There is a woman on board," groaned Mrs. 
Eustace. She saw the flutter of her dress. 

Whatever this cry was, it seemed to send a 
thrill through every person on the beach. The 
men, who had already pulled the boat out so far 
that the water dashed about their legs whenever a 
wave came in, turned around and looked angrily 
at the boys. Phil made a step toward the boat ; 
then he stopped, and looked at Rob. 

There was nothing in the world that would have 
given Phil such intense delight as to go out in that 
boat, and help rescue the crew of the disabled ship. 
No hero of chivalry had a braver spirit than he. 
No knight had ever desired more earnestly to plunge 
into the battle than he desired to steer that boat. 

Rob's blood was boiling. For the first time in 
his life he had been looked upon as a coward, and 
the injustice of the thing stung him to the heart. 
Such an adventure was something that suited him 
exactly, mind and body. In the excitement of the 
moment he had no more fear of those wild waves 
than of the rippling waters of a pond. 

He, too, made a step toward the boat, and as 
Phil looked up at him their eyes met. Rob knew 
exactly how Phil felt. He saw that he was trem- 
bling with fierce desire to go in the boat, and yet he 
knew the boy would never push himself forward 
to a place to which he thought he had no right. 

The storm of undefined emotions which had 
been raging within Rob now suddenly ceased. 
He spoke to Phil, but his voice was hoarse and 

" Get in," he said. 



" Do you mean it? "cried Phil, with a quick flush 
upon his face. 

Rob nodded ; and in a moment Phil had secured 
a cork belt about his waist and was in the stern of 
the boat. A wave rose beneath the boat, waist- 
deep into the water ran the men, and then they 
clambered in and seized the oars. 

'•I thought the big fellow would 'a' gone," mut- 
tered Joe Miles. And that was all that was said. 

Rob stood and watched the boat as eight strong 
arms pulled it away in the very face of the in- 
rolling breakers. Then his legs seemed to grow 
weak beneath him. He felt he had given up the 
only chance he would ever have of doing the thing 
that of all things in the world he would most like 
to do. He sank upon his knees on the sand, and 
put his hands before his face. The water washed 
up close to him, and the spray dashed over him, 
but he did not notice anything of this. 

Presently he felt a touch upon his shoulder. 
He looked up, and saw Mrs. Eustace standing over 
him. In an instant Rob sprang to his feet. 

"Mrs. Eustace," he cried, with glowing face, 
" I was n't afraid ! " 

The lady took the boy's hand in both of hers. 
"Rob," she said, " I never had a brother; but, if 
I could have one, I should like him to be a fellow- 
just like you. You need n't tell me anything about 
it. I know why you did it." 

Now came Mr. Eustace and the girls hurrying 
to the spot. They had been astonished to see 
Phil going off in the boat. 

"I had thought," said Mr. Eustace to Rob, 
"that you would go. You are so much larger 
and stronger than he is." 

" He can steer as well as I can," said Rob, with 
an attempt at a laugh. 

Phil's sisters turned their tearful and reproachful 
eyes on Rob, and Mr. Eustace was about to speak, 
when his wife interrupted him. 

"Come here," she said, "and you girls too. 
I want to speak with you." And she took them 

In half an hour the boat returned, bringing three 
men of the crew and the captain's wife and baby, 
Phil still proudly sitting in the stern and steering. 
The little boat was run upon the sand, and the 
seven men hurried to the boat-house and brought 
out the larger life -boat. In ten minutes it was 
afloat, six men at the oars, and Captain Silas at 
the helm. Before sundown every living being, and 
some of the clothing and property of the crew, had 
been safely brought to shore. 

The storm continued all night, and, before 
morning, the hawsers of the schooner parted, and 
she was driven ashore a short distance below the 
House of Refuge. She was beaten to pieces on 

the rocks, and when daylight appeared the beach for 
half a mile was strewn with her broken timbers and 
the flour-barrels which formed a part of her cargo. 

Phil was the hero of the occasion, for everybody 
agreed that no fewer than four men could have 
rowed that first boat out to the wreck ; and it 
would have been hard and doubtful work for them 
without some one to steer. Mr. Eustace and the 
girls thoroughly understood the whole affair, but 
they were no less proud of Phil. After all, he had 
gone out in the boat. 

As for the captain of the wrecked schooner, 
which was an American vessel, bound from Balti- 
more to the West Indies, his gratitude and that of 
his wife was so great that poor modest Phil longed 
most earnestly for the gale to subside, so that the 
sail-boats might continue their journey. But the 
wind, though much abated, was still so high that 
the prudent Captain Silas saw that he would have 
to remain at his present moorings until the next 
day, and the younger members of our party 
found occupation enough in watching and assist- 
ing the efforts of the rescued crew to save the 
boxes and barrels that the sea had thrown, or 
was throwing, on the sands and among the rocks. 

The next morning broke bright and clear, with 
a fresh but moderate breeze, and, after breakfast, 
the ' ' Wanda " and the ' ' Mary " were made ready to 
continue their trip down the river. Just before the 
larger boat, on which the whole party was then 
assembled, had cast loose from the little pier, the 
captain of the wrecked vessel came on board. He 
held in his hand a scarf-pin, surmounted by an 
ancient golden coin or medal. 

"I have n't much of value," he said, "but this 
is a curious Moorish coin which I got in Madrid, 
and I want to give it to the noble boy who came 
through the storm to help save me and mine." 
And, handing the scarf-pin to Phil, he turned and 
stepped ashore. 

That afternoon, when the two sail-boats were 
many miles from the House of Refuge, Rob was 
sitting at the open end of the cabin of the 
" Wanda," writing in his journal on the little fold- 
ing shelf which served as a table. Phil and the 
girls were on the other boat, and Mr. Eustace was 
taking a nap. Presently Mrs. Eustace arose from 
the camp-stool on which she had been sitting, and 
went up to Rob. She took from her pocket a 
silver fruit-knife, which she laid on the note-book 
before him. 

"I have n't much of value," she said, "but I 
want to give this to the noble boy who did n't go 
through the storm to save anybody." 

Captain Silas had been watching this little scene 
from the stern. " I Ye been thinkin' that that might 
be about the rights of it," he said, with a smile. 





By Eva L. Carson. 

When Ned was a baby — oh, ages ago! 
(Well, that is, a matter of six years or so) 

There once was a wonderful talking. 
From upstairs and down-stairs every one ran. 
When Mamma called : " Come, Susan ! Look, 

Mary Ann ! 
The most wonderful thing since the world 
began ! 
Oh, look ! Come ! See ! 

Neddie is •walking .' " 

But to-day a more wonderful thing you may see, 
For now a bold youngster called Ned climbs a 

Plays at ball, tag, or shinney (and beats at all 

And is ever in mischief and riot. 
And when this astonishing thing the folks spy, 
To one and another they wond'ringly cry, 
While amaze at such accident fills every eye : 

' ' What a marvel ! Here 's Ned sitting quiet ! " 


By I. N. Ford. 

Close by the river, at the foot of a dismal street, 
stands a big shed, in which eighteen families eat 
and sleep. It is a quarter of New York where 
decent people are seldom seen. On every side 
there are shanties and rookeries, and the air is 
heavy with sickening smells from slaughter-houses. 
Dirt is everywhere : a foul ooze of garbage and 
standing water in the gutter ; solid layers of dust 
in dark entries which are never scratched by a 
broom ; heaps of unclean straw serving for pillow 
and bed in the closets which are known as bed- 
rooms ; and thick coatings of grime, ancient and 
modern, on the hands and faces of the children 
swarming about the door-ways, as well as in the 
shreds, tatters, and patches with which they are 
scantily clothed. The midsummer sun heats up 
the piles of refuse until they steam with foul 
vapors, which are caught up by the windows : and 
when the doors leading into the halls are opened 
for a draught of fresh air, there is a stifling sense 
of closeness and dampness, which makes the 
babies sneeze and the mothers cough. The long 
wooden building, with its three floors and rickety 
staircases, is so unsteady and tottering that one 
who watches it in the noontime heat of a July day 
fairly holds his breath, expecting to hear a sudden 
crash and to see its ragged roof and dingy walls 
fall to pieces, disappearing in a cloud of dust. 

That ugly shed is known as " The Barracks." 
Rubbish heap though it be, it contains within its 
patched and slimy shell eighteen homes, with as 

many as sixty children. On each of its three 
floors there are six families, and no household has 
more than two rooms, one of them being barely 
larger than a closet, and as dark as night even in 
the day-time. In those two rooms the cooking 
and washing for the family are done, and at night 
the father, mother, and sometimes as many as six 
or eight children, have to sleep close together, like 
sardines in a box. 

"The Barracks" is one of the tenement houses 
where the children of the poor live all the year 
round. It is a long way from that dismal rookery 
to Cherry street, on the East side, where as many 
as one hundred and twenty families are lodged in 
" Gotham Court," once one of the most hideous 
tenement houses in the city, but now greatly im- 
proved. Between those two landmarks, and from 
one end of Manhattan Island to the other, there 
are tenements of all kinds and grades for half a 
million or more poor people. Among them are 
many well-kept mechanics' floors, where the halls 
are scrubbed once a week and the children oftener, 
and where there are carpets, pictures, easy-chairs, 
and many signs of thrift and comfort. But there 
are also thousands of cheerless and comfortless 
homes, where the poor lead lives of misery and want 
— rear tenements where the sunlight can not enter, 
rickety garrets as dark as a pocket, damp cellars 
and foul stable-lofts, where a breath of fresh air can 
never come, let the winds blow as they may. 

The children in these tenement houses always 

i88 3 .] 




- m 

! M1^A 

"7\ !>-i!E 

n iinaoon 

mnn no rfl&i 

^^t the: 

look older than | J3ARRACK,< 
they really are. 
Their pinched 

cheeks and hollow eyes tell 
a piteous story of hunger 
and want, for the city mis- 
sionaries often find families 

with six or 

more children f y A\S 
whose food is \ 
a few cents' 
worth of liver 
a day. Some- 
times there are 
cruel bruises 
in their hag- 



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Tut Fifth Flight Of §ta.\R.5 


gard, .sickly faces, 
bearing witness of 
a father's intemper- 
ance or a mother's 
ungovernable tem- 
per. Often there is the 
jaded look of weariness 
which comes from the 
drudgery of daily work 
1 and heavy burdens tak- 
en up and borne before 


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there is strength to bear them. In one way or 
another their looks belie their age. They are 
children who have been cheated out of their 
childhood In their rags, patches, and everlasting 
smudge, they are the little old men and the little 
old women of the tenement world. 

The childhood which accords with their years, if 


not with their faces, can not be permanently restored 
to them, for poverty is their birthright, and every 
season brings with it privations and misery. But 
if they can be helped to be children for two weeks 
in the year, the memories of their holiday and the 
renewed health which it gives to them will make 
them younger as well as healthier and happier. 
If, when the scorching midsummer sun falls with a 
white glare upon the thin roofs and flimsy walls of 
their tenement homes, the children can be taken 
out of the narrow closets where they sleep, and the 
steaming gutters where they swarm like big black 
flies, and set down in the center of the children's 
play-ground, which is the country, a new glow will 
be kindled in their cheeks, and they will be the 
children they were meant to be — not little old 
men and little old women. 

Now, this is the work of what is called " The 
Tribune Fresh-Air Fund." People who are rich 
or have moderate means furnish the money for the 
children's traveling expenses, sending it to "The 
Tribune " newspaper. Last summer there were 
more than fifteen hundred generous persons, many 
of them children themselves, who gave money for 
this purpose, the contributions amounting to $21,- 

556.91. With this sum, 5599 of the poor children 
of New York were taken into the country, given a 
holiday of two weeks, and carried back to their 
tenement homes. While their traveling expenses 
were paid by the contributors to the Fund, the 
children were the invited guests of farmers and 
other hospitable people living in the country. Dur- 
ing the spring, seventy-five public meetings were 
held in as many villages in New York, Connecticut, 
New Jersey, Massachusetts, Vermont, and other 
States, and arrangements were made with com- 
mittees and clergymen in as many other localities ; 
and when the kind-hearted entertainers in the 
country were ready to receive them, the children 
were sent out from the city in large companies, 
and distributed among the villages. The farmers' 
wives never knew whom to expect, although they 
always had timely notice as to how many were com- 
ing and when to meet the little visitors at the railway 
station. The children in setting out on their journey 
did not know where they were to spend their fort- 
night's vacation, but sooner or later they found 
themselves separated from their traveling compan- 
ions and trundling in a farmer's wagon over a coun- 
try road toward what was to be for a few happy 
days their home ; and although they had to tell 
their names and their ages when they reached the 
farm-house, and everything was strange and new to 
them, they always found a motherly woman bus- 
tling about and trying to make them feel at home. 

The manager of the Fresh-Air Fund is Willard 
Parsons, a bachelor clergyman, who has adopted 
the poor children of New York for his own. Hale 
and hearty, with a ruddy face and an eye twinkling 
with good humor, he has a heart brimful of 
kindness for neglected children, and the energy of 
twenty men. He it was who devised this simple 
and effective plan of entertaining in the country 
the poorest of poor children living in New York 
and Brooklyn. The experiment was tried six years 
ago, when he had a country parish in Pennsylvania, 
and now he is making this the business of his life. 
His work has already been crowned with success. 
The first year, sixty children were taken into the 
country. Last year, 6000 children had an outing 
in green fields and pastures new. It is a charity 
as popular as it is beautiful, for every heart is 
touched by the sorrows of neglected childhood. 

The children are selected by those who spend 
their lives in working for and among the poor. Last 
year, Mr. Parsons was assisted by more than two 
hundred physicians, clergymen, city missionaries, 
Bible-readers, and teachers, and use was made of 
the principal benevolent societies and charitable 
institutions, the design being to extend aid only 
to those who required and deserved it. All that 
was asked of the mothers or friends was that the 



children under their charge should be clean when 
they started. Now, in tenement houses, water sel- 
dom runs above the first and second floors. Fami- 
lies living in the remaining floors have to carry 
water upstairs in pails, and consequently use it 
sparingly. The children are not encouraged to 
keep themselves clean from day to day and week 
to week, so that something besides a surface 
washing is required when they are prepared for 
their summer travels. They have to be steamed, 
scraped, scrubbed, and shaken ; and as their 
mothers either will not or do not know how to be 
thorough in this process of renovation, the work is 
sometimes done at mission-houses and institutions. 
The transformations wrought by soap and water are 
often startling. One of the little girls at the Five 
Points, who did not recollect ever having had a 
bath in the course of her short career, caught a 
glimpse of her small self in a fragment of looking- 
glass, and gave expression to her emotions in the ex- 
clamation : •' Oh ! I 'se been born again, just like 
Eve ! " In this way, some of the ugliest children 
of the street are gradually bleached into comeliness 
and decency, and when they are clean, perhaps for 
the first time in their lives, they are arrayed in 
new clothes provided by the institutions. Often 
maternal pride, when the child is washed and 

',;•(, : 



•tiff** » 


dressed at home, produces a faded ribbon or a bit 
of cheap finery. When these finishing touches are 
neglected, the dresses of the girls are carefully 
ironed, and the boys' ragged and thread-bare suits 
are neatly patched and sponged. So clean and 
tidy are they, as with eager, excited faces they set 
out on their holiday journey, that it is often hard 
for bystanders to believe that these are indeed the 
children of the poor. But they are the poorest of 

poor children, and are carefully selected by those 
who know them and how they live. 

One of the largest parties sent out last summer 
left the city on the afternoon of July 5th. For an 
hour before the steamer's paddles began to move, 
troops of from twenty to forty children, conducted 
by Mr. Parsons's volunteer aids, had been filing 
across the wharf; and, when the last whistle was 
blown, four hundred and seventy little travelers 
were mustered in the cabins and on the decks. 
Each child wore a badge, and carried either a bun- 
dle of clothes or a carpet-bag, much the worse for 
wear; but there the common points of resemblance 
ended and variety began. There were all sorts, 
sizes, ages, and tempers. There were veterans in 
holiday travel, who, having had an outing the pre- 
vious year, knew all about it and were ready to 
abash their companions with their superior wisdom. 
There were shy little toddlers, to whom this was a 
terribly new experience, and who seemed to be 
uncertain whether they would find any place like 
a bed in that great cinder-mill of a steamer, or 
any person like a mother in the wonderful country 
whither they were going; and apparently this feel- 
ing was shared by a few of the mothers them- 
selves, who clung to the little ones with sobs and 
kisses, unwilling to let them go, even for two short 
weeks, although they knew it would be for the 
best. Then there were tall, awkward girls, pain- 
fully conscious of the fact that they were wearing 
their best clothes ; wide-awake boys bent upon ex- 
ploring the hold and mounting to the wheel- 
house ; timid figures cowering silently in corners 
where they would not be observed ; bolder spirits 
elbowing their way through the throng and mak- 
ing all manner of racket ; and wistful little faces, 
which seemed to have been waiting for a day's 
pleasure from their birth, and to have found it, at 
last, this merry day. It was a strangely assorted 
company of sad and joyous, listless and active, 
dull and intelligent, sickly and vigorous boys and 
girls. Every face was glowing with anticipations 
of happiness. Every little figure was quivering 
with excitement. " Is this the country?" piped a 
sweet voice, before the steamer had fairly swung 
out of her dock and headed up-stream. Not yet, 
little one; for, see, yonder is "The Barracks" 
showing its dirty face among the slaughter-pens, 
and higher up are the hovels of " Shanty-town." 
But have patience, for the country is coming soon ! 

What a wonderful voyage that was! How the 
children romped, sang, and screamed as the steamer 
glided by the dingy piers, and green banks and 
tall trees came into view ! How quickly the 
lunches were whipped out and pocketed in those 
hungry mouths ! How many bewildering sights 
there were for those tenement eves — vessels drift- 




ing by, trains whizzing in the distance, and, at 
last, real mountains towering above them ! How 
unwilling they were to be put to bed, and when 
they were once tucked in and the madcaps had 
been cautioned to hold their tongues, how quickly 
they all were sound asleep, the girls in the cabin 
and the boys forward ! What a scramble there 
was when the first urchin rubbed his eyes and 
found out that it was morning, and that he was on 
a steam-boat with 469 other children, and not in 
a close, stuffy tenement house ! What a famous 
breakfast they had, when the boat landed at Troy 
and kind-hearted Shcpard Tappen led them into 

and pickerel pools, and with great mountain masses 
looming up in the distance ! 

This was the first of the holiday journeys. As 
the season advanced, parties of children were sent 
out in rapid succession, sometimes as many as 
eight starting in a single day. From June to 
mid-September the children were entertained in 
as many as one hundred and sixty villages in 
the Mohawk Valley, among the Catskills and 
the Berkshire hills, on the Connecticut and the 
Sound, in New Jersey close at hand, and as far 
away as Bennington and the Adirondack woods. 
The average distance traveled by each child in 

»t.R ' M ^ 


a great room, where there were seven long tables, 
with cold meats, hot biscuits, cookies, oranges, 
and a glass of milk at each plate ! And then came 
what was to most of them a first ride on a railway- 
train. Seven cars packed with children bowled 
along through Saratoga and Ticonderoga toward 
the villages on the west shore of Lake Champlain, 
where the farmers were waiting at the stations for 
the expected guests. And now, little one, whose 
voice piped so sweetly opposite " The Barracks," 
this is the country ; and it is the real country, with 
flowers and berries, with farms and cows and chick- 
ens, with woods and squirrels, with tumbling brooks 

going and returning was 360 miles, and the man- 
ager of the Fund has made the interesting calcula- 
tion that the aggregate number of miles traversed 
by the children would have enabled them, if they 
could have gone on a straight line, one starting 
where another left off, to go around the world 
eighty-five times ! 

Whether the children traveled by boat, train, or 
stage, whether they went north, east, or west, they 
had a common destination. That destination was 
the country. Those who had been sent out in 
previous seasons knew what to expect. To the 
others it was a vague but glittering idea. " What 

i88 3 .] 


62 I 

is it like, anyway ? " was a serious little maiden's 
eager question on the cars between the great depot 
and Harlem bridge, when her chance acquaintance 
on the opposite seat was boasting that she had 
been there twice before on the poor children's 
excursions. " Oh ! there 's cows," was the quick 
response; " and then there 's apple-trees and big 
mountains and chickens and kind folks ; and 
there 's big rooms to sleep in, and there 's always 
lots to eat, when they blows the horn ; and they 
blows it frequent ! " This crude bit of descrip- 
tion appealed to the imagination of the de- 
mure little questioner, who had never seen either 
grass or trees outside City Hall Park. She opened 
her eyes very wide, and bobbed up and down on 
the cushioned seat after the manner of little peo- 
ple who are in a state of ecstatic expectancy. 
Some of the boys, who had been taken to the 
country early in July, when the apples were green 
and unripe, might have left them out of the 
summary of country delights. " Don't talk to 
me," said one of these experienced boy-travelers 
on one of the river boats, " about apples as grows 
on trees. Did n't I climb a tree and bite into 'em 
as soon as I got there ? and was n't they sour 
though ! Just give me a good sweet apple as grows 
in a barrel in town ! " But if the apples were not 
always ripe, the berries were ; and if the mount- 
ains were sometimes only hills, the country was 
always a cool and shady place — a land of cow's 
milk and the milk of human kindness, a land of 

The children generally reached the farm-houses 
in the evening, and were too tired to do more 
than stuff their small selves at supper and then 
crawl into their beds. In the morning they found 
themselves in large, air)- chambers, very dif- 
ferent from the close closets in which they were 
accustomed to sleep in town ; and their beds 
were so soft and comfortable that they would have 
been late to breakfast, if curiosity had not tempted 
them to bestir themselves and find out what sort 
of place the country really was. The barn-yard 
was always the first object of interest, and if there 
were children in the farmer's family, they would 
take charge of their little visitors from the city 
tenements, laughing merrily at their exclamations 
of bewilderment. A brown-faced country girl, 
in a sensible sun-bonnet and plain frock, would 
show a group of shy and awkward city girls, in 
fantastic, made-over, and patched-together attire, 
how to feed the chickens, the youngest child hang- 
ing back half-afraid, and being thrown into a flutter 
of excitement whenever a rooster crowed or a 
vigorous hen flapped her wings. At the other end 
of the barn-yard a sturdy country lad would give 
a puny tenement boy a first lesson in milking. 

smiling at his pupil's dread of the cow's hind feet, 
and bursting into a roar when the little voice 
would ask: " I say, mister, is she milk all the way 
through ? " 

The visitors invariably found out at breakfast 
that country milk was something very different 
from tenement milk. It was neither blue, thin, nor 
watery, but fresh and rich. " It 's more like good 
bread and butter than milk ! " said one pale-faced 
little invalid, who found it to be, indeed, both meat 
and drink. Many of the children, however, were 
unable to enjoy it during the first few days, being 
accustomed to diluted milk. "It 's too strong! " 
they would exclaim, and then look wistfully at the 
teapot: for the children of the poor are invariably 
given what their mothers term " messes of tea " in 
the tenements. Country milk soon found its way 
to their hearts as well as to their stomachs, and 
long before the vacation ended they were ready to 
take it whenever it was offered to them. Indeed, 
if some of the wayside stories are to be credited, 
their education in this respect was completed on 
the first day's journey. At Albany, for example, 
where a party was entertained at a large restaurant, 
eighty quarts of milk were drunk by eighty-six 
children in fifteen minutes. 

Before the first breakfast came to an end, the 
waifs of the New York streets were like members 
of the farmer's household, and from that moment 
until it was time to go back to the city they were 
contented and happy. The number of genuine 
cases of home-sickness among the six thousand 
children taken into the country last year could be 
counted on the fingers of a single hand. The be- 
wildering pleasures of country life, the flush of 
health following the change of air and diet, and the 
unwearied attentions of those who were entertain- 
ing them, combined to. make this fortnight the 
happiest ever known in those bare, neglected lives. 

The boys naturally took to the water like so 
many Newfoundland puppies. Wherever there 
were brooks and quiet pools they were to be seen, 
at any hour of the day, fishing, swimming, and 
wading. One bright-eyed little sportsman, who 
had provided himself with two formidable bean- 
shooters, graveh" asked his host if the woods back 
of the barn were "gamy." All the boys took an 
intense interest in the farm dogs, the woodchucks, 
and gray squirrels, and even the tiny field-mice 
and tree-toads. Riding horses bareback to the 
watering trough was esteemed one of the highest 
privileges ; but what a newsboy described as " the 
boss fun of all " was driving a load of hay. When 
the big countryman gave him the long whip and 
directed him to start up the oxen for the barn, 
while the little ones on the hay-cart were eying 
him enviously, it was decidedly the most important 




moment of that newsboy's life, no matter how them into the country, and were happiest when 

many dreadful murders and startling fires he had they could play by themselves in some shady 

cried in the streets of New York. place. One little maiden near Essex was not dis- 

The boys were always saying queer things, which tressed when she found that she had no playmates 

convulsed the jolly farmers with laughter. "Who in the house. She had her doll, and that was 

watered those plants last night ? " asked a little company enough. She chose a sheltered corner 



fellow at Guilford, catching a first glimpse of dew 
on the grass. " My eye ! what big lemons ! " was 
an exclamation called out by squashes in the 
garden. " I say ! who owns all the robins round 
here ? " was another amusing question. At Old 
Lyme, an urchin could not repress his astonishment 
when he saw a man digging potatoes in the field. 
"Have n't you any barrels in your cellar?" he 
asked, contemptuously. " Why do you keep 'em 
stowed away in the ground that way ? " 

The girls outnumbered the boys two to one, 
the farmers' wives having a decided preference for 
them. They were more domestic in their tastes, 
but as happy in their quiet way as their noisier and 
more venturesome brothers. They were interested 
in the work of the dairy and the other household 
occupations ; they were never tired of playing 
croquet in the front yard ; they gathered wild 
flowers in the woods, and clapped their hands with 
delight whenever they found a ground-sparrow's 
nest in the meadow ; and they went berrying every 
day, always contriving to fill themselves with wild 
strawberries, or blueberries, even if they did not 
have leisure to heap up their baskets. 

Some of the smaller girls took their rag-dolls with 

of the front yard as her nursery, and every morn- 
ing went out to sing her dolly to sleep, her favorite 
lullaby being a popular religious hymn. Across 
the road lived a country lad of her own age, who 
at once began to annoy her by repeating her music 
in a high key, with numerous variations. For two 
days she paid no heed to her troublesome neigh- 
bor. On the third, her blood was roused. She 
propped up her doll against a post of the fence, 
marched across the road with flashing eyes, and 
cuffed her audience of one boy about the ears. 
" Now, just see here ! " she exclaimed. " I came 
here for two weeks' fun, and I mean to have it ! " 
The boy fled riotously, and the moral effect of 
the demonstration was marked. The sturdy little 
maiden was suffered to have her fun in peace and 
quiet until it was time for her to return to the city. 
The farmers, surprised by the intelligence and 
good manners of their guests, and moved to com- 
passion by the stories of city life which were told, 
bestirred themselves to fill the cup of holiday 
pleasure until it should be brimming over. They 
purchased hammocks, croquet sets, sometimes 
even velocipedes, for the use of the children. Long 
drives over country roads were arranged for them; 



fishing parties were formed, and river and lake ex- 
cursions were planned ; luncheon was often served 
in the woods ; and on the sea-board they were 
taken to clam-bakes and allowed to bathe in the 
surf. In many instances, all the families entertain- 
ing children in the same village united in a com- 
bination picnic in the woods, with a bountiful 
luncheon supplied from the kitchens of the farm- 
houses, and ice-cream served from the country 
hotel. At one village on the edge of the Adiron- 
dack wilderness, seventy-five children were enter- 
tained in this way; and at Whitney's Point there 
was an ice-cream festival. 

At Maple Grove, near Bennington, where Mr. 
Trenor W. Park (by whose recent death the poor 
children of New York have lost a most generous 
friend) entertained several large parties, the chil- 
dren found what was to them an earthly paradise. 
An old-fashioned farm-house, with piazzas on three 
sides, stood in the center of a park of one hundred 
and seventy-two acres. A gravelly path led from 
the porter's lodge to the porch ; a crystal spring, a. 
bubbling brook, a rustic bridge, and a summer- 
house were to be found under the maples and 


Una, cS-V 




fe r %,„, fci 


pines ; and in the background was a great orchard 
with a vista of meadow and woodland. A matron 
and several servants were placed in charge of the 

house ; a physician kept his eye upon the children ; 
there was a cabinet organ for use in Sunday serv- 
ices in the large parlor; and in September great 
fires of pine logs blazed in the open fire-places, and 





[SEE F'AGE 626.' 

stories were read or told to the children in the long 
evenings. Happy days were these for the little 
ones of the tenements ! Not only the happiest 
they had ever known in their meager, neglected 
lives, but sometimes the only happy days. 

But they were days that were numbered — one 
to fourteen ! As the day for the return to the city 
drew nigh, faces would lengthen and sighs and 
groans would be heard. " Must we go, rain or 
shine ? " the boys would ask ; and it was evident 
from their manner that they would gladly take the 
risk of a brisk tornado or a deluge of rain, if the 
methodical Mr. Parsons's arrangements could be 
upset and their stay in the country be prolonged 
for a week. But never a tornado nor a deluge 
intervened in their behalf. Rain or shine, the 
wagon would drive up to the door, the muslin bags 
stuffed with presents for the folks at home would 
be stowed away under the seats, and the children 
would be forced to say good-bye to their kind 
entertainers, the smallest ones sometimes sobbing 
as if their hearts would break. Waving handker- 
chiefs and hats to those left behind, they would 




lassie M 
^^JgSKfciS --<' ---;^^L% : - rap 

1 fr^fe- '4i ~-^"lf=|Ei>^3r 

rl fgw His • — " W 

i83 3 -l 



crane their necks at the first turn in the road to ages of pop-corn and bags of butternuts, baskets 
get a last glimpse of their country paradise ; and of fresh eggs and strawberries, bundles of clothing, 

in p 

V-i . 



vi- mt ■•;... - 

\ ..-.. W' ■■ ■ ■"-•■ 

'■■- : v> ; »., "' -- ' \ \ ■- .- .- ■ ' 

I !•<■" - . i ^a .1 

vrtt - 

H "~hhi mXx\ „x?*w ^v%'\i3^~ \"h"Ail i-^ : 


>~ , V 


then they would be homeward bound to "The boxes of vegetables, sometimes even a brood of 
Barracks," to " Gotham Court," and to " Shanty- chickens, or a gray squirrel securely caged, 
town." Homeward bound, their cheeks ruddy with By stage, train, and boat their journeys were 



health, their little heads stored with precious mem- retraced, and when they arrived at the wharf or 
ories, and their arms loaded with plunder — pack- depot in New York, what exclamations fell from 
VOL. X. — 40. 




the lips of those who met them to take them back 
to mission-school, asylum, or tenement ! Pale, 
sickly faces had grown as brown as russet apples. 
The lean, hungry look had gone. Sad, wistful 
faces had lapsed into content. The hollow-eyed, 
listless maiden, who had explained to her hostess 
on her first morning in the country that she never 
could eat any breakfast at home, because there 
were six of them in two rooms and she had to 
sleep on a mattress close by the cooking-stove, 
came back plump, rosy, and cheerful. Some of 
the children seemed to have nearly doubled their 
weight. The sick babies, the nervous chil- 
dren who had been in the hospital for 
months, and many an exhausted, care- 
worn mother, who had been sent 
away because physicians had said 
that their lives depended upon 
their having the country air, re- 
turned wonderfully improved in 
health. They were all at home 
again, many of them entirely 
reclothed, every one stronger, 
fresher, and happier. The 
children's vacation was over. 
Some of the good people in 
the country were glad that it 
was over. There was the staid 
deacon, who was sorely disap- 
pointed when the boy and 
girl at his house begged to 
be excused from going to 
church one Sunday, and 
greatly horrified to find, 
at the close of the serv- 
ice, that they had 
taken advantage of 
the occasion to in- 
vade the pig-pen 
with a pot of black 
paint, and touch up 
every ear and tail 
in a new litter of 
little pigs. He was 
glad to have such 
mischievous chil- 
dren go back to town. Then there were a few 
weary farmers' wives, who had listened too credu- 
lously to the exaggerated accounts given by the 
children of their city homes, and become painfully 
oppressed with the thought that they were being 

imposed upon. But these instances of dissatisfaction 
were rare. As a rule, the children's conduct was 
excellent and their departure was viewed with keen 
regret. Here and there a child was adopted by a 
farmer's family, or given a home for six months 
or a year, and often the vacations were prolonged 
a second or even a third fortnight at the request 
of the entertainers. The pathos of neglected child- 
hood softened many a heart. There was the moth- 
erly little maiden who, accustomed to looking after 
her agile brother, discovered on the second day 
that he had shed a button, and sedately produced 
from the depths of her pocket a large pill- 
box labeled, " For Johnny. Take one 
every hour." The hourly dose was 
only a button, which she proceeded 
with great earnestness to sew on 
his jacket,but the child's thought- 
fulness and sweetness touched 
the sympathies of every mem- 
ber of the household. In many 
ways the children transplanted 
from back alleys to green fields 
have exerted a good influence 
upon those who were gener- 
ously contributing to their 

As for the little ones them- 
selves, they were always sorry 
to have their vacation over, but 
they consoled themselves with 
the reflection that what had 
happened once might happen 
again. They were right, for this 
is surely one of those works 
of mercy which appeal to every 
heart in town or country, and 
which will flourish year after 

" What do you think Heaven 
will be like ? " asked a teacher 
in one of the city mission- 
schools during the autumn. 

" Oh, I know ! I know ! " 
exclaimed the smartest girl 
in the class, her face brighten- 
ing with a look of delight,— 'It will be like the 
country ! " Perhaps she had seemed thankless and 
indifferent while she was there, but the coun- 
try remained in her mind, a blessed and restful 

,88 3 .] 



By Margaret Johnson. 


1 1 

M'<W f 


A SUMMER morning, cool and fair ; 
A whisper soft in the sunny air, 

And a sound of rippling laughter. 
A distant patter of dancing feet ; 
A chorus of eager voices sweet, 

And a happy silence after. 

A motley, merry crowd of youth, 

With garments ragged and worn, forsooth, 

But never a step that lingers. 
Lads and lasses in laughing bands. 
Babies that hold to guiding hands, 

With clinging, anxious fingers. 




Faces merry, or grave, or sad, 
Lit up with expectation glad — 

Where are the children going ? 
Away from dust, and noise, and heat, 
The bustling city's narrow street, 

With crowded life o'erflowing. 

To sunny fields of daisied grass, 
Where cool the fitful breezes pass 

Above the blossoms leaning. 
Where, far from walls and boundaries, 
With birds and butterflies and bees, 

They learn the summer's meaning. 

U)jc(e)>- tt)& WCj)c{er£uL 

Under the wonderful blue sky, 
The mighty arms of tree-tops high, 

In green woods arching over ; 
Where spicy perfumes lightly stray, 
In breezy meadows of new-mown hay, 

And fields of purple clover. 

On sandy shores beside the sea, 

Where roll the tides incessantly, 

And dancing ripples glisten ; 

Where whispering shells repeat the tale 
The ocean thunders in the gale, 
To rosy ears that listen. 


Sorrowful, wistful, patient eyes 
Grow bright with rapturous surprise, 

Or soft with happy wonder, 
And cheeks as white as the winter snows 
Blossom in tints of brown and rose, 

The summer sunshine under. 



Wise Mother Earth to sad young hearts 
Her choicest gifts of all imparts. 

Their careful thoughts beguiling; 
She breathes her secrets in their ears — 
Their eyes forget the smart of tears. 

And catch the trick of smiline. 

They learn sweet lessons, day by day, 
While speed the winged hours away, 
In gray and golden weather ; 

They find, in flower or bird or tree, 
Faint gleams of the beautiful mystery 
That clasps the world together. 


Perchance some serious, childish eyes, 
Uplifted to the starlit skies, 

Read there a strange, new story ; 
And dimly see the Love that holds 
The round world safe, and o'er it folds 

The mantle of His glory. 

Of) yonjdy <^o 

r,e>c b-e)jLr/o 



A distant patter of dancing feet, 
A chorus of happy voices sweet, 

Amid the summer splendor. 
Glad voices, rise through all the land ! 
Reach out, each little sunburned hand, 

In greeting warm and tender. 

To those whose thoughtful hearts and true 
Have lightened lovingly, for you. 

Your poverty's infliction ; 
And on each helpful spirit be 
For this — the lovely charity — 

The children's benediction ! 





Bv C. M. St. Denvs. 

Boys like to know what boys can do. Let me 
tell you what a few Philadelphia boys have done. 
" The Boys' Silk-Culture Association of America" 
has a large room over a corner store in Phila- 
delphia. You might suppose from the name that 
it is a large company. But it has only five mem- 
bers. These members, however, are so active and 
devoted that they have made their enterprise not 
only successful but well known throughout the 

Hearing that they were glad to see visitors, we 
called. In the shop-window some of the boys' 
work was displayed — a frame of light wood, with 
si Ik- worms feeding on mulberry leaves, some co- 
coons in jars, and others in the little paper cones 
where they had been spun. There was, also, a 
pamphlet for sale at twenty-five cents, which had 
on its cover the modest statement, " Compiled by 
the Boys' Silk-Culture Association of America." 

We were quite disappointed on being told that 
the "Association " was out at the park gathering 
mulberry leaves ; but we were all the more curious 
to see it. An Association that would travel two or 
three miles to the park to gather fresh leaves for 
its silk-worms must be worth seeing. 

So we called again, and this time were fortunate 
enough to see the President of the Association 
himself, a bright-looking boy of about fourteen 
years, who showed us the various apparatuses, and 
explained everything very politely. 

The center of the room was occupied by a large 
stand of about five tiers of trays, made of light 
wooden frames, with a net-work of twine tacked on 

" They were not hard to make, but they took a 
tremendous lot of tacks," said our informant. 

Here lay sheets of paper covered with the little 
grayish eggs, not as big as a pin-head. On some 
the eggs had hatched, and the little brown worms 
were already feeding on the leaves which the boys 
had chopped fine for .them. Each paper had the 
date of the hatching marked on it, so as not to get 
worms of different ages mixed. 

" This is a very late brood," explained the young 
silk-culturist. ''It is a lot of eggs we sent to Paris 
for in a hurry, because we had more orders for eggs 
than we could fill from our own raising, and they 
were delayed." 

"So you boys have dealings with foreign 

* See also the article on " Sillc-CuUure for Boys and G 

business houses ?" we inquired. " Do you corres- 
pond in French or English ? " 

"In English," was the reply. '.' And we have 
sent orders to Japan, too. We never have any 
trouble about the language. I suppose the houses 
from which we order have persons in their employ 
who understand English. The French eggs are 
the best; but the French are careless in making 
up their packages. When we send for an ounce 
of eggs, we don't want old wings and legs of moths 
and bits of leaves mixed up with them. Not long 
ago I wrote to ask what they meant by sending 
us such light weight. They replied that it was 
' French weight.' And that was all the satisfaction 
I got." 

We suggested that it must be a new denomina- 
tion of French weight that had not got into the 
tables yet: "Several hundred moth wings and 
legs make one ounce of silk-worm eggs." 

He laughed, and proceeded to show us some 
full-grown worms that were preparing to spin. 
Picking one up gently, he showed us its legs and 
eyes and breathing-holes; explained about the in- 
visible little spinnerets on each side of its mouth ; 
and afterward showed us a chrysalis and a moth, 
so as to give us a clear idea of the insect from the 
beginning to the very end of its existence. 

Then he showed us his jars of cocoons, looking 
like fresh pea-nuts, and the twists of reeled silk, 
softer, finer, and more shining than the most beau- 
tiful golden hair, and a piece of satin, with the 
initials " B. S. C. A." embroidered on it in silk of 
"' our own make." 

It was interesting to watch the caterpillars feed- 
ing. In the last stage they are smooth and whit- 
ish, and two or three inches long. We fancied we 
could actually hear them chewing, they ate so 

" No," explained the young President ; " that is 
only the crackling of the leaves as they are pulled 
over each other. But they are great gluttons. 
They seem to eat all the time. No matter how 
early I am up, I find them at their breakfast, and I 
leave them eating at night." 

" Do they never sleep? " we naturally asked, on 
hearing this. 

" I never saw them at it. And, by the way the 
leaves disappear during the night, I don't think 
they take much time for sleep even then. But they 

iris," in St. Nicholas for January, 1883, page 225. 


6 3 I 

can sleep enough in their cocoons. Now see them 
crowding together in the corner of the tray. They 
will do that, no matter how often we separate 
them. I suppose they are like people. When one 
finds something good, the others flock around to 
share it." 

Here a worm in the center of the tray stood up 
on its tail and waved its head from side to side. 

"What does that mean?" we asked. " Is he 
tired of eating at last ? " 

" Yes; he is ready to spin now," and the boy care- 
full)- dropped the worm into a paper cone, where 
it at once began to spin its delicate threads and 
fasten them on the paper. " Some people let them 
spin on twigs," he added, "but we like the cones 
better. We made them in the evenings last winter. " 

Sure enough. There were piles of the little 
paper cones neatly stacked on a shelf. 

A worm now tumbled over the side of a tray. 
The boy stooped to pick it up and replace it. He 
was gentle, even with a worm. 

"Every cocoon counts for something," he said. 
"We can't afford to lose even one." 

At one side of the room stood the reel which the 
boys had invented and made themselves. 

" You wont find a reel like that anywhere else," 
said the President, with pardonable pride. " When 
I planned that I had never seen a silk-reel. Of 
course, I knew the principle, and worked according 
to that. And I got a carpenter to make the wheel, 
but the rest we did ourselves. It works very well, 
too. We sand-paper the part the silk is wound on 
every time we use it." 

Then he showed us the very first silk they had 
reeled, and a specimen of the later reelings, which 
an expert had pronounced equal to the best. 

The boys had also experimented with chemicals, 
and had dyed some of their silk in bright colors. 

In the corner stood what looked like an old 

" That 's a twisting-machine," he explained. 
"A gentleman who visited our place gave it to us 
to twist our silk on." 

"Why, really, you do everything here but 
weave," we could not help remarking. 

" Yes," said he, " and we are not going to stop 
till we learn weaving, too." 

" It looks as if you were going to make it a 
business for life," we continued, inquisitively. 

" I don't know about that," said the boy ; " but 
I like to do thoroughly anything I undertake." 

"How long have you been interested in silk- 
worms ? " we next asked. 

" About three years," he replied. 

" I suppose," we continued, " it keeps you busy 
only in the spring, while the worms are feeding?" 

" No," said he; "we can always find something 

to do. We made all our own apparatus, and we 
read all the books we can find about silk-culture. 
Then our correspondence is pretty large. People 
write to us from all parts of the country." 

" I suppose boys who are interested in silk- 
raising write to you?" we inquired. 

" Yes ; boys, and grown people, too." 

" Probably they think you are head-quarters for 
information," we rejoined, with a smile. 

" I suppose so," he answered, laughing. 

"Do you find your interest in your silk-worms 
interferes with your studies? " we asked. 

" I never let it," was his reply. " When I 'm in 
school, I attend to my lessons; and when I am here, 
I attend to my silk-worms. I always keep them 
separate. We give the worms enough leaves in the 
morning to keep them busy till we get back." 

Who could help admiring such a spirit ! 

" But, between them, don't they keep you too 
closely confined for your health ? " we could not 
help inquiring, with natural anxiety. 

" Oh," said he, " you know we have to walk out 
to the park for the mulberry leaves. That gives 
us plenty of exercise. It is inconvenient rais- 
ing silk-worms in the city, where we are so far 
from the mulberry-trees ; but we have a branch 
establishment in New Jersey, where the trees are 
right on the place. Two of the boys live there, 
and we communicate by mail." 

" How is it you have so few members?" we 

" The Association was only established for the 
mutual information and help of boys who are in- 
terested in silk-raising," he rejoined. "There is 
no money to be made by joining. Every boy has 
to do his own work and earn his own money." 

" How is the money to be made? " we asked. 

" We sell eggs and cocoons," said he, " and give 
lessons in the business ; and we take in reeling. 
Before long we shall have reeled silk to sell. But 
we make the most money on the eggs." 

We here picked up the little pamphlet published 
by the Association, which our young friend, with 
innate refinement, had not shown to us, lest it 
might have the appearance of asking us to buy it. 
We purchased a copy as a souvenir, and after inscrib- 
ing our names in the visitors' book, took our leave. 

Soon after, we were pleased to read in the col- 
umns of a Philadelphia daily, in an account of the 
trades' procession at the time of the Bi-centennial 
in October, 1882, the following item : 

" The Boys' Silk-Culture Association next appeared with a wagon 
ingeniously arranged with a good display of cocoons, silk, etc. A 
part of a mulberry tree, on which silk-worms feed, was also shown, 
together with a reeling machine, with which the boys reeled silk as 
the wagon passed over the line of procession. This Association was 
started a few years ago by four school-boys, who, it is said, have 
been greatly successful in their venture." 




By M. J. 


k-M 7f \\\}\ 

One, two, three ! 
A bon-ny boat I see. 
A sil-ver boat, and all a-float, 

Up-on a ros-y sea. 

One, two, three ! 
The rid-dle tell' to me. 
The moon a-float is the bon-ny boat, 

The sun-set is the sea. 



Bv M. H. B. 

WlNKY, blinky, niddy. nod ! 
Father is fishing- off Cape 

Winky, blinky, sleep)* eyes, 
Mother is making apple. 


Cuddle, cuddle, the wind 's in the trees ! 
Brother is sailing over the seas. 
Niddy, noddy, up and down, 
Sister is making- a velvet rawn. 

Winky, blinky, can not rise, 
What 's the matter with baby's eyes? 
Winky, blinky, ere, cri, creep, 
Baby has gone away to sleep. 





.? _ V:")C,. -' 


We will open our June meeting this time, my 
hearers, with this wise little song, written for us by 
our friend Jessie McGregor: 

If words 

Were birds, 
And swiftly flew 

From tips 

Of lips 
Owned, dear, by you ; 

Would they, 

Be hawks and crows ? 

Or blue, 

And true, 
And sweet? Who knows: 

Let 's play- 

We choose the best ; 
Birds blue 
And true, 

With dove-like breast ! 
'T is queer, 
My dear, 

We never knew 

That words, 
Like birds, 

Had wings and flew ! 


The Deacon must have some very clever friends. 
I heard him repeating what he called "a good 
thing " the other day, adding very quietly, 
" Franklin said it." The " good thing" was this: 
"Laziness travels so slow that Poverty soon over- 
takes him." 

If any of you happen to meet this Mr. Franklin, 
I 'd like to hear from him again. 


Your Jack has been much interested of late in 
the telephone, that wonderful instrument which 
St. Nicholas has explained to you so clearly.* 
I say " so clearly," not because I know how clearly, 
but because the children of the Red School-house 
seemed to understand the Little School-ma'am when 
she made the remark. Yes ; I 've heard them all 
talking, and talking, and talking about the tele- 
phone, and how the instrument and its wires 
enable folk to hear each other's voice when miles 
and miles apart, and how all you have to do is to 
say: "Connect me with such or such a party, 
please ! " and straightway that person shouts 
" Halloo ! " at you out of the telephone's trumpet, 
held close to your ear, and how you shout 
" Halloo ! " back, and then enter into conversation 
with that person, just as if she, or he, or it (if it 's 
a telephone operator at the central station) were 
right at your elbow. 

And the thing has grown so amazingly! — im- 
proved, I should say. At first, persons could talk 
from one street to another, or across a few, fields 
or a little stream like the British Channel ; but 
lately they have been talking from New York to 
Cleveland, and at greater distances, perhaps ; and 
now, as a final touch, what do you think they 
find they could do with the telephone if they 
wished ? Why, they think that in time they could 
make it connect city folk, in their own ugly brick 
houses, with the woods and the streams of the 
country ! Make them hear the very winds that 
sigh in the trees ! 

Imagine it ! Frogs croaking, by request, in 
city parlors; forest birds singing to order in 
lawyers' offices; brooks babbling at elegant din- 
ner parties. / can 't imagine it, being, you see, 
only a Jack-in-the-pulpit. But Deacon Green and 
the Little School-ma'am imagined it the other day, 
and they enjoyed it amazingly. 


LEST some of you very, very wise and knowing 
big chicks should think the Deacon and the Little 
School-ma'am expect too much of the telephone, I '11 
just give you here a paragraph that landed on my 
pulpit one day. It came from an English publica- 
tion of good repute, I 'm told : 

"A short time ago, while Mr. N. G. Warth, manager of the Mid- 
land Telephone Company, Gallipolis, Ohio, U. S., was conversing 
by telephone with Major H. E. Hooner, of Pomercy, Ohio, some 
twenty miles away, he was surprised to hear the croaking of frogs 
and songs of wild birds very distinctly. The telephone wire is 

*See St. Nicholas for June, 1878, p. 549. — [Ed. 

J A C K - 1 N -T H E - P U L 1' I T . 


known to pass through some dense woods on its course, and the ex- 
planation is that sonic loose joint in the wire acted as a microphone, 
and taking up the woodland sounds, transmitted them to the tele- 
phone at the end of the line. The accident shows that it would be 
possible to have wild-wood music brought into the heart of the city 
every morning along with fresh milk and flowers." 


Why is this smiling little girl sitting here, my 
chicks ? She can't be waiting to go out for a 
walk, because, you see, she has on thin shoes and 
a summer dress. If these are suitable, then the 
warm muff and the great feathers are sadly out of 
place. What, then, is she doing ? Who is she ? 

I '11 tell you who and what she is. She 's a text. 
Now, do you understand ? No ? Well, then, you 
shall hear further. She is illustrating a fact. 

You must know that it is very early June, and 
the little girl's mother (who should have attended 
to the matter earlier) is packing her winter clothes 
and curtains and what-not away for the summer, 
so that the moth now flying about may not lay 
eggs in them. For these eggs in time would hatch 
into tiny larvae, or worms, that would eat the 
fabrics and make unsightly holes in them. 

*~-C^$-_>=-- -~- ' !_:■ 

iW ** 

Furthermore, you must know that there are many 
kinds of moth. Some kinds attack feathers, some 
attack furs, some attack woolens, some attack car- 
pets, and some, I am told, do not trouble any 
of these things. The history of these various 
moths is very interesting, but I can not tell it here. 
It would take too long. And that is why the little 
girl, with her muff and her feathers and her 

woolen cushion, is sitting in your midst. She 
says : " Study the moth, and you '11 know more 
to-morrow than you do to-day." 


I HAVE noticed a slightly consequential air about 
the moon of late, a sort of set-up manner, so to 
speak, and I have been somewhat at a loss to 
account for it, — for the silvery II ( tie lady always 
has been as modest and simple-minded a moon as 
one could wish to see, — but to-day I have found 
out the cause. She has developed a new talent. 

Yes, the Little School-ma'am says — and it must 
be true — that there are now such things as lunar 
photographs, or photographs taken by moonlight ! 
Think of that ! Not likenesses of persons, but of 
places, lovely hills, lakes and streams and meadows. 

And the pictures are lovely, they say — soft, low, 
and rich in effect, besides being clear and well de- 
fined. Well, well ! That beats anything your Jack 
has heard of for a long time. Quite a new field for 
the moon, is n't it ? I suppose in this case the fact of 
her finding out this new power late in life will make 
but little difference. " Late " and " early " are syn- 
onymous terms with the heavenly bodies, I 'm told. 

Would n't it be too bad, now, if the moon has 
known all this time that she could make nearly as 
good photographs as the sun, if somebody only 
would give her a chance ? I can't imagine a more 
trying situation. 

Come to think of it, have n't you often noticed 
how, at night, she sometimes winds her way in and 
out among the clouds as if she were searching for 
something? I have, often. What if it 's a camera 
she 's been looking for all these years ? 


Now, I love dogs, and honor them. A dog is 
a noble animal ; and a pug dog, while it can not 
exactly be called noble, may still be a confiding 
friend. But what do you say, my chicks, to this 
news : 

Oh, Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I must send you these two 
paragraphs, which came from two different papers. Mamma found 
one, and I found the other : 

Canine fashions in Paris are guided by as strict rules as those for 
human beings. Thus, no poodle belonging to a fashionable mistress 
must wear the metal bracelet which replaces the collar on the right 
foot, but the tiny ring must always encircle the left paw just above 
the fringed tuft which ornaments the ankle. If "Mustache" is 
black, his bracelet should be silver, but if his shaven coat is snowy 
white, a golden circlet is more becoming. 

A young lady entered a prominent engraver's the other day, with 
an order for the engraver to furnish her with a hundred visiting 

cards for " ' Bijou,' No. East Fifty-seventh street." The 

fashion for engraved visiting cards for pet dogs has caught like 
wildfire. The ladies say it 's so pretty and so novel ; besides, it 
gives the dog's maid (many of the pets have a special attendant) an 
additional duty in keeping up calling lists and reception days. 

Do show these to the boys and girls, dear Jack. Your young 
friend, Mamie G . 


Will find it, I am told, in this month's Letter- 
Box . 

6 3 6 




Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently 

be examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with 

contributions will please postpone sending their MSS.' until after the last-named date. 

We are obliged lo postpone to the July number the report (prom- 
ised fur this month) concerning the compositions received in answer tn 
our offer made in the April issue. The number of these compositions 
sent in has greatly exceeded our expectations, making it impos- 
sible to examine them all in time for this number. There are still 
several hundred to be read, but we shall print next month the best 
composition on each of the two subjects: " A Shark in Sight " and 
" Robert Burns," together with a Roll of Honor containing the 
names of those who shall have almost won in the competition. 

As the four composition subjects for this m 
The Month of Roses. 
Straw Hats — Who Makes Them ? 
My Luck as a Sportsman. 
The Mosquito — Its Uses and Abuses. 


ent tin 

year by one of my brothers. 1 never have written to you before, 
and presume you wish something had happened to me before 1 did 
now; but I am threatened with "quinzy,"and am rather hard up 
for something to do. So I went to work at your first puzzle. In 
hopes it is right, I will tell you the way I read it. * * 

Yours truly, Julia G. 

Dear St. Nicholas: "Bob's Wonderful Bicycle," in the April 
number, is something like a case I know of, but the boy (his name 
was Charlie), instead of proving himself a genius as " Bob " did by 
making a bicycle, thought he would try one already made. At first 
he tried riding a cart-wheel, but it went too fast, or he went too slow ; 
anyway, he did n't ride it but once. And then he tried a grind- 
stone. I don't know what happened then, but he did n't feel very 
well for the next few days, and I have n't heard him mention " Bi- 
cycle " since. I am fourteen years old. I st'idy algebra, philos- 
ophy, and lots of other things, especially mischief. 

Yours trulv, Sadie C. 

Mr. Ford's admirable article in this number on "The Tribune 
Fresh-air Fund" can not fail to enlist the interest and sympathies 
of all our readers in the beneficent work which he describes. And 
there is perhaps no charity more deserving and practical than this 
of giving a fortnight in the country, with all its attendant blessings 
of joy, rest, and new life to the neglected poor children of the city 
tenement houses. " The New York Tribune " receives and credits 
subscriptions to the Fund, whether large or small, and last year the 
names of many boys and girls appeared in the lists of donations. 
Indeed, this, like the "Children's Garfield Fund," is a charity to 
which the subscriptions of young folk are especially fitting. 

Answers to "That Fellow." 

A great many of our young readers have tried to answer that 
fierce-looking animal who stalks across page 395 of the March num- 
ber of St. Nicholas asking for a name, and declaring that he is 
"not to be trilled with." He would be furious, indeed, if he were to 
hear the scores of titles that our correspondents have given him. 

We must stand bravely between the savage fellow and all those 
who have mistaken his name, but the following " answerers," though 
not exactly correct, may approach him, we think, with safety: 

Eddie Chenevert — Annie B. Harter — Mabel Milhouse — E. Hunt 
— Carleton Radcliffe — Harry Kellogg. 

Meantime, we take pleasure in showing, one and all, a correct 
description of the animal taken from " Cassell's Natural History." 

"The Long -Tailed Tiger-Cat. 

"This little-known form — the ' Oceloid Leopard,' as it is some- 
times called — was discovered by Prince Maximilian of Neuwied, in 
Brazil, where it inhabits the great forests, and is often killed fur the 
sake of its beautiful fur. In color it is not unlike the Ocelot, in size 
it is inferior to it, and its longitudinally elongated spots are neither 
so large nor so well marked. It is chiefly distinguished from other 
forms by its long bushy tail and its big staring eyes. It is consider- 
ably smaller than the preceding species {i.e. the ' pampas cat '), the 
body being about twenty-seven inches long, the tail fourteen." 

Philadelphia, 1S83. 
Dear St. Nicholas : In Mr. Forbes's article, on page 347 (March 
number), he uses lurid in reference to crimson clouds, and Mr. 
Trowbridge says, on page 354, Mart showed his "lurid brows." 
One of these is certainly incorrect. Yours truly, Clara T. P. 

Warsaw, N. Y., Feb., 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I received my magazine to-day. I have 
taken the St. Nich. ever since 1876. It has been given to me every 

Mendon, Dec. 22, 1882. 
Editors of St. Nicholas: My father has a very curious cat 
and cow. My brother has seen the cat tying between the cow's 
horns, and the cow will stay perfectly still, as if she liked it; and 
my brother has seen the cow lapping the cat, as if she thought it 
was a calf, and liked to do it. Yours truly, 

Paul Williams (aged 9 years). 

Savannah, March 8th. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I saw in your March number that you 
were surprised to hear that the little girl in San Francisco, twelve 
years old, never saw a snow-fall. Why, I am fifteen years old, and I 
have never seen one, and neither has my brother, who is twenty. 
With much love to you, I remain W. T. H. 

We arc now beginning to be surprised, dear W. T. H., at the 
goodly number of St. Nicholas readers who have never seen a 
snow-fall. Besides the little California girl and yourself, there is, 
at least, one other, as the following letter shows. And we can not 
help wondering whether the many thousands of people in the 
tropics, to whom snow is only a name for a thing they have never 
seen, share Minnie V.'s idea that it " fell in chunks, and would hurt 
people when falling on them." 

Lowell, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Please allow me to say to Miss Annie 
Keiller, before I close this letter, that I have the advantage of her. I 
was born and raised in San Francisco, and had never seen any snow 
until this winter when I came to Lowell. I always had an idea that 
snow fell in little chunks, the size of my finger, judging from the 
snow I had seen in pictures, and thought it would hurt people when 
falling on them. Judge of my pleasant surprise when I saw real 
snow falling so softly and noiselessly. 

Yours truly, and an ?-cvoir, Minnie V. 

We gladly print the following letter, and see much to commend in. 
the suggestion made. Who will be the first of our young readers to 
respond to it with some sample rhymes? 

Dear St. Nicholas: May I venture to suggest an idea to you 
which might, if it should strike you favorably, be made to combine 
both instruction and amusement ? I have long wished that some en- 
terprising Mother Goose could be found in this generation who 
would undertake to put some useful facts in jingling rhyme. Who 
of us ever forgets the doggerel of his babyhood, with its rcd-and- 
yellow pictures? When I see how easily these stick fast in the 
memories of my children, and how much drilling a little geography 
and history require (especially dates and numbers), I mourn at the 
waste of memory. 

How many of us recall at once the number of days in each month 
without mentally rehearsing: "Thirty days hath September," etc.? 

i88 3 .] 


And I for one am always indebted to the old rhyme : " First William 
the Norman, then William, his son," and the rest, for my knowl- 
edge of the succession of the English sovereigns. One of Mother 
Goose's rhymes says: 

"The King of France, with twenty thousand men. 
Marched up the hill, and then marched down again ! " 

No child ever forgets his number, or that the king was French. 

I think if St. Nicholas would suggest some such idea in its 
pages, and ask the young people for contributions, a good deal 
of fun, as well as benefit, might come of it. Certainly, there is 
enough that is odd and strange in history to furnish material 
equal to that of the most grotesque and tragic Mother Goose rhyme, 
and if illustrated by some of your bright artists, I think the result 
of this plan might be both useful and entertaining. 

Yours very truly, Mary T. Seecomb, 

Is n't this good, young friends, for a nine-year old poet? Thanks. 
Master Willie, and we '11 print it with pleasure: 

The Deer. 

Who roameth in the wintry wind? 

The deer. 
Whom doth the hound pursue? 

The deer- 
No doubt lie often feels forlorn 
When startled by the hunter's horn — 

The timid fallow-deer. 

That creature beautiful and mild, — 

The deer, — 

With eyes so large, and brown, and soft, — 
The deer, — 

O hounds and hunters, leave your prey! 

Let him pursue his woodland way — 

The pretty fallow -deer. 
Willie Gaunett (nine years old). 

Dear St. Nicholas: I send you the following charade. It is 
not original, but I never have seen it in print : 

yiy Jirst, beloved by ancient dame, 

Within my next, from ancient countries came; 

Oh, fragrant whole, of which each forms a part, 
Thou art not science, but thou teachest art. 

A nsiver. — Tea-chest. 

Did you ever hear, dear St. Nicholas, of a certain teachers' 
convention where each teacher was given a pretty memento — a tiny 
tea-chest, suitable for a watch-charm, which bore the words Tu 
doces ? Your readers who are studying Latin will see the joke. 

Your constant reader, J. W. P., Jr. 


Without stopping to refute the careless error of those who think 
that in winter "there are no specimens to be found," let us all 
make the most of these bright May and June days, when Nature is 
so lavish with her richest treasures. Probably the greatest obstacle 
to the young naturalist has been the difficulty in naming his speci- 
mens. Is it not a thousand times repeated story that a boy begins 
to make a collection of minerals or plants, and after a few weeks of 
diligence and enthusiasm finds his shelves covered with a confused 
mass of unknown stones and flowers, despairs of attaining exact 
knowledge or orderly arrangement, and presently suffers his dusty 
minerals to become dispersed, and bis neglected plants to be burned 
or broken ? And. certainly, it is no light task definitely to analyze 
either mineral or plant. To do this requires a wider and more pre- 
cise knowledge of language, and a finer training of mind and eye, 
than most young people possess. It is a work that, fortunately, 
may be largely left for riper years. 

But what we all can do is to find our specimens and study them. 
We can set in our note-books the date and the locality of each. We 
can write our descriptions in our own language, using the best 
terms of our own vocabulary. We can test in our own way 
hardness, weight, color, elasticity, clearness, crystal-shape, and 
fusibility. If by chance or friendly aid we leam the name of a 

specimen, we can study about it in our text-book, dictionary, 
and encyclopedia, and compare the technical characteristics there 
given with our own simpler and less accurate description. We 
shall soon be able to make the broader distinctions, and to recognize 
at a glance many forms of quartz, limestone, and iron. It is well to 
remember that the }iamc is not by any means the most important 
fact about a specimen. But it is a very necessary thing to learn ; 
and, as we said in the beginning, it is most discouraging not to 
know it. For this reason we are peculiarly grateful to the gentle- 
men who have recently offered us their services in the matter of 
determining for us the names of our refractory pebbles, ferns, and 
beetles. It is now possible for each of us to proceed intelligently 
and with satisfaction, even if slowly. With the new offers of aid 
this month, which we thankfully accept, we have a specialist to help 
us in nearly every department known to the A. A. 

" I shall be happy to answer questions in the ornithological line. 
"James de B. Abbott, Germantown, Pa." 

" I will help you out in anything that pertains to the microlepi- 
doptera, including PyralidcE, Tortrzcidee, Tineidtg, and Pterophor- 
tidee; and my son, H. L. Fernald, with me, will answer questions 
on the Hewiptera. C. H. Fernald, 

" Prof. Nat. Hist., Maine State College, Orono, Me." 

"I will undertake to answer questions referring to Pacific Coast 
(U. S.) Mollusca, and also most of the land and fresh-water shells 
of N. A. I am also willing to exchange with any who have desirable 

"Harry E. Dore, 521 Clay st., San Francisco, Cal." 

"State Normal School, Westfield, Mass. 
" In response to your call for a mineralogist to identify speci- 
mens that members of the A. A. may collect, I beg to offer my serv- 
ices, as far as my time may admit. F. W. Staebner, 

"Late Mineralogist Ward's Nat. Sc. Establishment, 

Rochester, N. Y." 

" Waterville, Maine, March 20, 1883. 
" I read with much interest the account of the Agassiz Associa- 
tion in last St. Nicholas. It is a work that has my heartiest 
sympathy, and I would like it to have also what little cooperation I 
may be able to render. I shall be happy to answer questions relat- 
ing to the mineralogy of Maine. Chas. B. Wilson, 

" Instructor Nat. Sc, Colby University." 

"Department of Agriculture, ( 

"Division of Entomology, Washington, D. C. 5 
" I chanced to pick up a number of St. Nicholas this even- 
ing, and learned for the first time of the A. A., and saw evidences of 
its good work. I also noticed your call for an entomologist, and 
desire to offer my services. Our facilities here for identifying species 
in the great group of insects are exceptionally good, and I should be 
very glad if 1 could help any boy or girl in his or her studies in this 
direction. Leland O. Howard " 

We add the following Department directions for sending insects : 

" All inquiries about insects, injurious or otherwise, should be ac- 
companied by specimens, the more the better. Such specimens, if 
dead, should be packed in some soft material, as cotton or wool, 
and inclosed in some stout tin or wooden box. They will come by 
mail for one cent per ounce. Insects should never be inclosed 
loose in the letter. Whenever possible, larva: (i. c. grubs, 
caterpillars, maggots, etc.) should be packed alive in some tight tin 
box, — the tighter the better, as air-holes are not needed, — along with 
a supply of their appropriate food sufficient to last them on their 
journey; otherwise, they generally die on the road and shrivel up. 
Send as full an account as possible of the habits of the insect respect- 
ing which you desire information ; for example, what plant or plants 
it infests; whether it destroys the leaves, the buds, the twigs, or the 
stem ; how long it has been known to you ; what amount of damage 
it has done, etc. Such particulars are often not only of high scien- 
tific interest, but of great practical importance. In sending soft 
insects or larva; that have been killed in alcohol, they should be 
packed in cotton saturated with alcohol. In sending pinned or 
mounted insects, always pin them securely in a box to be inclosed 
in a larger box, the space between the two boxes to be packed with 
some soft or elastic material, to prevent too violent jarring. Pack- 
ages should be marked with the name of the sender." 

"Nat. Sc. Dep't, Wells College, Aurora, N.Y. 
" My class in Botany are very anxious to make a substantial addi- 
tion to our herbarium by their own cjre?-iions. To this end they 
propose collecting a number of sets (each to include at least 100 
species), characteristic of this ' lower lake region.' These thev hope 
to exchange for corresponding sets — east, west, north, and south — of 
the flora of many localities. Of course only field, swamp, and forest 
specimens, none cultivated, will be included, and they wish just such 
in return. Can you not put in motion the machinery of your very 
admirable A. A. and help us to arrange for such general exchanges ? 
We will collect through the entire summer, and have our sets ready 

6 3 8 



for distribution by Oct. 15. I will say,just here, that it will give me 
great pleasure to determine and classify any botanical specimens 
which may be sent me. Indeed, I will do anything to help on this 
good work. Edward L. French." 

[This proposition of Prof. French seems to us one of the very best 
and most practicable plans possible. No Chapter, or member who is 
botanically inclined, should by any means fail. of seizing this rare op- 
portunity of securing a fine collection. We suggest, in addition, that 
the Chapters be not content with collecting a single set for this ex- 
change, but that several be made at once, which is scarcely more 
difficult. These can then be exchanged with other Chapters, and 
thus scores of excellent herbariums be built up in an exceedingly 
cheap and pleasant way.] 

"Laboratory and Engineering Office, 

" South Pittsburg, Tennessee. 

" To observe correctly and to register accurately is a greater educa- 
tion than to acquire the artificial systems of analysis in half a dozen 
branches of science. As a test of how much is obtainable from the 
Chapters in the way of direct observation as opposed to mere ' book 
larnin',' I will ask all who will to observe what they can about the 
growth, flowering, and seeding of the geranium plant {Pelargonium 
Zonule) and report to me by the 15th of October. Geraniums are 
everywhere. In this plant are some interesting details, which are 
not in the books. We will see how many of them they can catch. 

" As far as I can command time, I am at the service of the A. A. 
" Wm. M. Bowron." [F. C. S.] 

[Prof. Bowron can not fail to pique the curiosity of our boys and 
girls; and, unless we are mistaken, many of them will discover how 
the geranium scatters its seed, and — but we must n't anticipate.] 

New Chapters. 

Name. Members. Secretary's A ddress. 

Rockland, Me. (A) 15 . . Miss Grace T. Cilley. 

Hamilton, Ohio (A) 9. . Ed. M. Traber, Box 198. 

Saco, Me. (B) 7 . . Miss Helen Montgomery, 

Box 713. 

Chittenango, N. Y. (A) 11. .Ch. A. Jenkins. 

Washington, D. C. (G) 6. .Miss Isabella McFarland. 

[ Will tJie Sec. please send full address ?] 





449. Richmond, Va. {B) 

450. Fitchburg, Mass. (D) 

451. Sydney Mines, C. B. (A). 

452. Burlington, Vt. (A) ... 

453. Oswego, N.Y. (A) 

454. Rochester, N. Y. (B) 

6..W. O. English, 

707 East 
G. F. Whittemore. 
Miss M. T. Brown, Beech 
H. B. Shaw, 253 S. Union. 
W. A. Burr. 

Miss Mary E. Tousey, 263 
N. St. Paul St. 
[This Chapter of Deaf M utes is specially welcome to the A. A.] 

, Exchanges. 

Insects and minerals. — Ernest Stephan, Pine City, Minnesota. 

Iceland spar, for fossils. — E. R. Heitshu, Lancaster, Pa. 

Petrified shells (Spiri/cr radzata), for a male and female silk- 
worm moth. — E. R. Lamed, 2546 S. Dearborn st., Chicago. 

Electric and chemical apparatus ($3), for minerals. — Kenneth 
Hartley, Fort Scott, Kan. 

Correspondence, North and West. — P. S. Benedict, 1243 St. 
Charles St., New Orleans, La. 

Southern woods, sea-shells, and minerals. — Isaac Ford, 1S23 Vine 
st., Philadelphia. 

Mistletoe from Kentucky, and red hematite from Balboa, Spain, 
for army worm, its eggs or larvae. — Wm. W. Mills, Reading, Pa. 

Gold ore and amethyst. Write for particulars. — R. J. Wood, 134 
Jackson st, Jackson, Mich. 

Woods, eggs, minerals. — Winfred H. Trimble, Princeton, 111. 

Insects, woods, petrified wood, for fossils and minerals. — A. A. 
Crane, Auska, Minn. 

Silver ore. — Dr, Jos. A. Stiles (Sec. Ch. 306), Belmont, Nye Co., 

Reports from Chapters. 

Jamaica Plain (124) has been studying the formation of ice, and 
sends good drawings. — Newton Upper Falls (256) is taking in- 
creased interest in the work, making individual collections. — Wash- 
ington, D. C. (109) has been studying the brain of the dog. The 
specimen was prepared by Robert Bigelow, according to Giacomm's 
method. The brain is first soaked for about a week in a saturated 
solution of zinc chloride. On the second day the membranes are 
removed. It is then put in alcohol for at least a week. Then it is 
soaked in glycerine, in which it floats, until it sinks to a level with 

the fluid. The surplus glycerine is then washed off, the brain is 
dried and varnished and placed on a piece of glass. The Chapter 
has also examined alga? under the microscope, and detected the 
grains of chlorophyl Animalcula have been studied, and the fol- 
lowing facts reported: The skin of the whale is insensible, for bar- 
nacles grow upon it. The flesh of the whale is red and coarse. — 
168, Buffalo C, is prospering. All Buffalo Chapters meet together 
once a month. — 91, Buffalo A, has at length bought a very fine 
microscope, for which it has been working a year and a half. It is 
an "Improved National Binocular," and cost, with two objectives, 
$137. Cora Freeman, Sec. [Accept our congratulations. ] — W. M. 
Patterson, Sec. Chicago G, sends a good article on the Proteus, 
which he finds to be a batrachian. with a naked, slimy skin, about a 
foot long, half an inch in diameter, pale flesh color, and with bright 
crimson branchial tufts. It is found only in the subterranean waters 
of some caves in Europe, especially in the Adelsberg cave in Carni- 
ola. Its food consists of aquatic worms, insects, and molluscs. —374, 
Brooklyn, now numbers 15, and is about to buy a ten-dollar cabinet. 
— German town B is prosperous, and wishes to know whether any 
fossil animals are found in coal. 


(15) Water Lilies. — What becomes of the water lilies when 
through blooming? By observation, we find that the closed lily 
sinks in an upright position, and disposes of its long stem by coiling 
it around and around on the bottom of the river. 

Josie M. Hopkins, Ch. 256. 

(16) Beetle. — I have a beetle like the P/utncus, excepting the 
horn. Is it the female? [Yes.] 

(17) Snakes' Eggs. — We found some garter-snakes' eggs while 
digging bait. Two of them broke, and we saw the young snakes, 
which were alive. 

(18) Polle". — As nearly as I can determine, the pollen grain o: 
Nasturtium is a triangular prism. I can think of no other way o: 
explaining the shapes which appear under the glass. I show tbf 
principal appearances at A, B, and C, all of them being very common. 



Figures A 1 , B 1 , and C 1 represent what 1 imagine must be the real 
shapes of the outlines shown at A B C: 

IB ' 


/ 7\ 

(19) Leaves. — Some years the ash leaves before the oak, and 
some years the oak leaves first. Sylvia A. Moss. 

(20) Polypliemus. — I have found this larva on oak, elm, willow, 
and birch ; Promcl/iea on ash, cherry, and lilac : Cecropia on apple, 
maple, and willow. Philip S. Abbot. 

(21) Sleep of Plants. — We brought home some locust beans, and 
were surprised one night to find them asleep. At sunset, the leaflets 
at the top of the stalk began to close. The only way I can illustrate 
the closing process is to join the two h;snds by commencing at the 
wrist, and place each finger against the corresponding one on the 
other hand, as we do when praying. Will some one tell me what 
causes a yellow spot on hawthorn leaves ? A Reader. 

Those of our members who avail themselves of the services of 
the specialists mentioned in this and the two previous numbers _of 
St. Nicholas must remember the directions for correspondence 
already given. If any members are studying in any department in 
which no specialist has yet volunteered assistance, they will please 
communicate with the President of the A. A. 

Any person may join the Association, whether a subscriber to 
St. Nicholas or not; but those who are not members can not 
have notices of exchange mentioned here. 

Address all communications, except questions in t/w sezwal de- 
partments, to the President, 

Harlan H. Ballard, 
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 

i83 3 .] 


6 39 



In silence sweet the morning broke; 

The air was still, 'mid beech and oak, 

Till the song of my Jirst rose high and clear, 

And waked from sleep a startled deer, 

Who bounded off with eager feet 

The brightly dawning day to greet. 

As near the edge of the wood he came, 

He crossed the path of a rustic dame, 

Who tied my second beneath her chin 

As she cheerily called the cattle in. 

By a distant pool with boughs o'ertopped 

The timid animal, listening, stopped. 

Ah! then with sure, unerring aim, 

A deadly arrow swiftly came 

From the hand of a marksman steady and true, 

As with eagle eye the string he drew — 

One of a band of outlawed men, 

Of courage tried and warlike ken; 

With lawless freedom and greed of gold 

They followed my ivholc, a chieftain bold. 


Each of the words described contains four letters. The zigzags, 
beginning at the upper left-hand corner, will spell the name of a 
great reformer who was born on the 17th of June, 1703. 

1. A Chinese vessel. 2. A harbor. 3. A continuous pain. 4. 
Nine inches. 5. A monk's hood or habit. 6. A drink made of 
water and honey. 7. The principal body of a tree or plant. S. 
Amusement. 9. Habitual food. 10. A small horse. M. 

47-37-2-38 is to unite. My 17-46-36-5 is in the highest degree. 
My 14-4-18-19 are what all doctors like. My 6^27-10-11 was 
the vulnerable point of Achilles. My 28-25-45-22 is dumb. My 
29-33-17 is a purpose. My 39-35-T2-1 is being in health. My 
31-49-48 is a horned animal found in South Africa. My 24-13- 
8-36 is to throw. My 6-16-44-50-30 is a sweet, thick fluid. 

" 13AIS." 



Red ochre. 3. Jeopardy. 
^reat Greek I 
S. Allured. 

In Tuesday. 2. Red ochre. 3. Jeopardy. 4. A period of 
religious awakening. 5. A great Greek tragic poet, born 481 B. c. 
6. Distributed. 7. Loaded. 8. Allured. 9. In Tuesday. 



1 2 3 


Reading Across : From 1 to 3, a kind of collar ; from 4 to 6, a 
girl's name ; from 7 to 9, the sun ; from 10 to 12, a measure. 

Reading Downward: From 1 to 10, foundation; from 2 to n, 
an image ; from 3 to 12, a sphere. 

From 1 to ic.and from 3 to 12, when read in connection, name a 
game. GILBERT F. 


In each of the following sentences the omitted words are formed of 
the same letters transposed. Moreover, the omitted letters of one 
sentence may be found by adding one letter to the omitted letters of 
the preceding sentence. 

1. This is * puzzle. 

2. The * *, commonly called the Aar, falls into the Rhine 
above Basle. 

3. We * * * told that Dr. * * *, of Edinburgh, is famous 
among the physicians of our * * * for treating diseases of the 
* * * 

4. I have just 

5. Which was the more unfortunate 

the pamphlet by 
Major * 


6. As we * * * the city, we learned how the mayor, 
in attempting to * * * * *'■' * himself to one party, had * 
* * * * the contempt of all good citizens. 

7. The dean, weary of the turmoil of London, ***** 
for the quiet of his ****** * c _ P _ w _ 

Tp|^^lH^W l 

The answer to the above puzzle is a four-line stanza. The first 
and third lines are written out; the second and fourth lines are each 
represented as a rebus. The first and second lines rhyme, as do also 
the third and fourth. 


1. Syncopate a domestic animal, and leave an article of clothing. 
2. Syncopate brief, and leave a piece of lead. 3. Syncopate to 
strike, and leave location. 4. Syncopate to puff, and leave part of a 
boat. 5. Syncopate a royal personage, and leave cost. 6. Synco- 
pate immense, and leave a large tank. 7. Syncopate a course, and 
leave a wand. 8. Syncopate a part of the body, and leave a stag. 
9. Syncopate destruction, and leave to hasten. 10. Syncopate a 
reason, and leave a covering or sheath. G. s. hayter. 



I am composed of fifty letters, and am two lines from one of 
Longfellow's poems. 

My 32-43-3-7 is resembling. My 39-16-26-42-50-41 is amaze- 
ment. My 9-21-15-23-20-40-41-34 is the direction in which most 
emigrants travel. My 23-40-30 is a river of Scotland. My 

Across: i. To bruise. 2. Often on the breakfast-table. 3. 
Clamorous. 4, A perch. 5. A combat. Diagonals, reading up- 
ward from left to right, beginning at the upper left-hand corner: 1. 
In mutiny. 2. A meadow. 3. Amphibious animals. 4. Uneven. 
5. To augment. 6. In mutiny. dycie. 






Define each of the italicized groups of words by one word. 
When rightly guessed, and placed one below another in the order 
here given, these will form a word-square. 

I walked out in a leafy nwiith and saw one iv/io mak(S use of a 
thing, who was not far off, picking berries to eat. I stopped him, 
knowing they were poisonous, and afterward said to myself, " Even 
he sometimes makes mistakes." 


Centrals (reading downward) : An eminent English statesman. 
■ Across: r. A range of mountains in the United States. 2. A 
portion of the British Isles. 3. A country of Europe. 4. A mount- 
ain of Crete. 5. In United States. 6. A town of Brazil, situated 
on the Tiete river. 7. A river of Europe flowing into the Mediter- 
ranean Sea. 8. A city of Spain. 9. A county of England. 

FRANCIS w. 1. 

Make the above diagram without removing the pencil from the 
paper, and without going over any line twice. 


Across : 1, Sluggish. 2. Open to view. 3. A famous epic poem. 
4. Narratives. 5. Marks made by blows. 

Downward: i. In assistance. 2. A word of denial. 3. A biblical 
character. 4. To lease. 5. To set the foot. 6. A plate of baked 
clay. 7. A haunt. 8. A familiar abbreviation. 9. In assistance. 

H. H.' D. 


My firsts are in jewel and jacinth; 

My seconds in purchase and buy; 
My thirds are. in doughnut and cruller; 

My fourths are in flutter and fly. 
If you look through the words I have given. 

You may see the two answers quite clear; 
A couple of words ot but four letters each — 

They are two pleasant months of the year. 


Proverb Rebus. A fool and his money are soon parted. 
Rhomboids. Across. I. 1. Dove. 2. Hive. 3. Mere. 4. 
Name. II. 1. Reel. 2. Deal. 3. Lion. 4. Room. 
Pi. The robin, the forerunner of the spring, 
The bluebird with its jocund caroling, 
The restless swallows building in the eaves, 
The golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May, 
All welcome this majestic holiday. 

Longfellow, " Lady JVentivorth." Line 113. 
Syncopations. Wisconsin: 1. Se-W-er. 2. Bra-I-n. 3. Do-S-e. 
4. S-C-old. 5- B-O-at. 6. K-N-it. 7. Re-S-in. 8. Pa-I-n. 9. 

To-N-e. Charade. Mason. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, maypole ; finals, garland. Cross- 
words: 1. MockinG. 2. ArabiA. 3. YeaR. 4. PeaL. 5. OsceolA. 
6. LeaN. 7. ElanD. 

Mythological Numerical Enigma. A little that a righteous 
man hath is better than the riches of many wicked. Psalms, 
xxxvii., 16. 

Nine-block Puzzle. Remove 1, and move 4 up, 7 up, 8 left, 5 
■down, 6 left, 9 up, 5 right, 8 right, 7 down, 6 left, 9 left, 5 up, 8 right, 
7 right, 6 down, 4 down, and replace 1. 

Word Syncopations, i. De-cid-e. 2. T-win-ed. 3. Fam-in-e 
4. Re-war-d. 5. Str-etch-ing. 6. N-ear-est. 7. Be-long-ing. 8. 
Li-mite-d. 9. Re-call-ed. 10. F-or-eign. 11. S-cold-ing. 12 

Geeek Cross. Upper Square: 1. Star. 2. Tare. 3. Arts. 4. 
Rest. Left-hand Square: 2. Pair. 2. Abbe. 3. Ibis. 4. Rest. 
Central Square: 1. Rest. 2. Ella. 3. Slur. 4. Tare. Right-hand 
Square: 1. Tare. 2. Adit. 3. Rien. 4. Etna. Lower Square 
1. Tare. 2. Acid. 3. Ride. 4. Eden. 

Fan Puzzle. From 14 to 2, overlap; 15 to 3, outpour; 16 to 6. 
observe; 17 to 5, outstep; 18 to 6, Otranto; 19 to 7, Ottoman ; 20 
to 8, off-hand; 21 to 9, outrage; 22 to 10, officer; 23 to n, Octavia 
24 to 12, outpost; 25 to 13, offense. From 2 to 13, preponderate. 
Novel Cross-word Enigma. May-day. 
Patktotic Pi. How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blest! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
C. 2. Cam. 3. Camel. 4. Camelia. 5. Melon 

Diamond, i. 
. Lin(ger). 7. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the May number, from Bella and Cora 
Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, 9. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from Paul Reese — Cuchee Smith — 
F. H. Davis — E. F. L. — "A. P. Owder, Jr." — E. and S. Blake — Two Subscribers — " Alcibiades " — Jennie and Birdie — J. P. Den- 
ison — Carl. E. Ton — The Cantine Family — Pipnie and Jack — Molly and Martyr — " Mfltiades " — Charles J. Durbrow — Ciara J. 
Child — Louis R. Custer — Madeleine Vultee — "Town and Country " — Arthur Gride — " Marna and Bae" — Francis W. Islip. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from G. D. L., 5 — Frank A. Burling, 5 — Pansy, 
to— C. W. Woodward, 5 — Etta M. Taylor, 1 — Eugenia B. Hay, 1 — Theodore Yankauer, 2 — G. M. T., 6 — Arthur W. Tidd, 3— Geo. 
Earle Hicks, 3 — Charley Weymouth, 4 — Lorenzo Webber, 1 — Harry and Joe Apple, 1 — Samuel H. and Ruth D. Camp, 8 — "June and 
November," 6— Belle Patterson, 6 — Sallie, 6— Howard Coale, 1 — Edith L. B., 7 — F. H. W. and M. M. D., 6— Charlotte Gandil, 3 
— " Bardell and Pickwick," 10 — L. I., 12 — "Oskaloosa," 1 — Hessie D. Boylston, 9 — "Proteus," 4 — Edith L. Field, 3 — Edith M. 
Hailock, 1 — Willie Trautwine, 9 — Gaylord Boys, 5 — Frank Harper, 1 — David R. Hawkins, 2 — " Mama and I," 2 — Sadie Chase, 5 
— Marion A. Knox, 1 — Nannie McL. Duff, 7 — Arthur Hoopes, 5 — Genie J. Callmeyer, 11 — V. P. J. S. M. C. 7 — Warren, 5 — Carl 
Niemeyer, 6 — Philip Embury, Jr., 11 — Austin H. Pease, 2 — Mother, Ruby, and Mabel, 3 — "Houghton Family,"i2 — Alice Warm, 2 — 
Irving Easton, 12— Addie L. and Mary E. Fries, 6 — Maud Bugby, 5 — Georgie Draper, 6 — "Blue Beard," 4 — Lydia Bostwick and 
Lizzie Kurtz, 12 — Mary Mitchell and Nanny Stevens, 1 — Erne K. Talboys, 9 — B. T. Hynson, 1 — Bernice Elise P., 4 — Edith, Millie, 
and Wallie, 4 — M. D. T., 3 — Minnee A. Olds, 7 — Nellie, Katie, Tom, and Frankie, 10 — George Lyman Waterhouse, 12 — <r Rochester, 
Pa.," 4 — Louise Oilman, 10 — Mary C Bumam, 7 — W. R. Hamilton, 5 — Ellen L. Way, 3 — Arthur C. Hixon, 12 — " Silhouette," 8 — 
Chas. H. Wright, 4 — Vin and Henry, 11 — "Fin. I. S.," 2 — Helen M., 6 — Charlie M. Philo, 1 — Florence G. Lane, 6 — M. Florence 
Noyes, 6 — Livingston Ham, 4 — Helen E. Matran, 1 — L. H. B., 6 — Sallie Viles, 11 — " Patience," 4 — Mary E. Baker, \~ — H. L. P., 
8 — Lottie A. Foggan, 5 — D. B. Shumway, 10 — "Professor and Co.," n — Lalla E. Croft, 7— Daisy Talman, 1 — " Ignoramus " and 
"Nonentity," 7 — Clara Small and Emeline Jungerich, 9 — Mamma and Willie, 31 — Mary P. Stockett, 8 — Mary T. Garnett, 1 — Charles 
Haynes Kyte, 11 — Vessie Westover, 6 — Maggie T. Turrill, 12 — Lausina and J. Wallace, 10 — "J. Checkley," 1 — M. G. and M., 6 — 
Stiles A. Torrance, 5 — "Ethel Leontine," 6 — " Dycie," 11 — Meg, 3 — Frank White, 1 — Mary E., 7 — Jennie M. Elliott, 8 — Lulu 
Culver, 7 — Hazel, 12 — Valerie, 9. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 



("The Erooklyn Bridge." — Page 689.) 


Vol. X. 

ULY, 1 88. 


[Copyright, 1S83, by The CENTURY CO/ 

By Sophie Swett. 

It did seem strange that, just as soon as Mr. 
Sparrow went to Colorado for his health, everything 
about the creamery began to go wrong. Johnnie 
had been determined that everything should go 
right. He had told his father, over and over again, 
that he need not feel the least uneasiness about 
the business, because he should look after it. 
Johnnie was not quite fifteen, but he was the 
tallest boy in Potowka for his age, and when he 
talked about managing the business while his 
father was away, he always seemed to grow several 
inches taller. 

Smart ? Johnnie had his own opinion about 
that, and almost all Potowka was inclined to agree 
with him. 

He had won all the prizes there were to be won 
at the grammar-school, and without seeming to try, 
either, for he was never known to lie studying when 
he was wanted to join in any game, and every- 
body said they had never had a Fourth-of-July 
orator at Potowka who could equal him at decla- 
mation. At a game of ball he was sure to be on 
the winning side, and when there was a rowing 
match on the river, everybody regarded it as a fore- 
gone conclusion that Johnnie Sparrow would bring 
his boat in ahead. 

That was the kind of boy that Johnnie Sparrow 

His father kept one of the largest stores in 
Potowka, and a creamery besides. Johnnie did 
not think much of the store, but the creamerv 
suited him. He had almost decided that the firm 

should be John J. Sparrow & Son when he grew 
up. When he was younger, he had thought that 
he should run for Congress, or keep a livery stable, 
but he found that with advancing years his am- 
bitions changed. 

He felt very proud when the long trains of 
refrigerator cars went oft" laden with butter and 
cheese, to fill orders that had come to Potowka, 
the little village in the heart of Illinois, not only 
from Chicago and St. Louis, but from far-away 
New York and Boston. For no butter was sweeter 
and yellower, no cheese had a richer flavor, than 
that made in John J. Sparrow's creamery. 

When a very large load was sent (fifteen tons 
sometimes went at once) Johnnie felt as if every- 
body would have a surfeit of butter, and it would 
never be possible to sell any more. But still orders 
kept coming — sometimes from the very city to 
which the fifteen tons had just gone. It seemed 
as if everybody must live on butter. Johnnie had 
almost come to the conclusion that it was butter 
that made the world go round. And he certainly 
talked as if it were. He sternly rebuked his little 
sister Minty, who held buttercups under people's 
chins to see whether they loved butter. 

" Everybody loves butter," he said. " Anyway, 
you must n't put it into people's heads that they 
don't, because it might hurt the business ! " By 
which you will see that Johnnie was of a prac- 
tical turn of mind. 

But he was not so practical but that he some- 
times enjoyed revolving in his mind a scheme by 




which the whole world was to be supplied with 
butter from his father's creamery. He had dreams 
of establishing an agency for the creamery in 
Japan, and even in the Cannibal Islands. From 
the north pole to the south there should not be a 
spot where Sparrow & Son's butter was unknown. 

Just how many cows they should have to keep, 
and just how many men would be required to col- 
lect cream enough in the country around; just how 
large a steam-engine they would need, and just 
how many pigs it would take to eat up the butter- 
milk, when that day came, he tried in vain to 
calculate. But, then, arithmetic was not Johnnie's 
strong point. 

He had, however, very little doubt of his own 
ability to manage such a business as that when he 
grew up. 

With such confidence in his power to do great 
things, it was certainly very humiliating to Johnnie 
that, just as soon as his father left for Colorado, 
things began to go wrong in the creamery. 

It was more aggravating from the fact that 
Johnnie's uncle Daniel seemed to think that Aehad. 
been left in charge of the creamery, and when he 
was unexpectedly called away to New York on busi- 
ness, he patted Johnnie on the shoulder, and ' 
said : 

" You 're getting to be a big boy, Johnnie ; you 
can keep an eye upon the business. I am sorry 
that I 'm obliged to go away, but I know your 
father trusts you a great deal, considering you 're 
only a boy, and there 's Jotham Jenkinson, a good, 
faithful man, to take the responsibility." 

Very condescending, as you see, was Uncle 
Daniel, who kept a hardware store, and scarcely 
knew cream from skimmed milk. Johnnie had 
resolved to show him whether he knew how to 
manage the business or not — he whom Uncle Dan 
called only a boy. 

But, alas ! things had gone wrong. 

In the first place, Jotham Jenkinson, the engin- 
eer, fell ill of rheumatic fever, and there was 
nobody to take his place. Johnnie made inquiries, 
and sent letters far and wide, but it was in a 
busy season, and every man who understood run- 
ning an engine was occupied. Young Jotham 
Jenkinson thought he could run the engine about 
as well as his father, but young Jotham was barely 
sixteen, and everybody said a boy ought not to be 
trusted with so responsible a position. The other 
men did not like the idea of working under a boy, 
and gave Johnnie to understand that they should 
leave if he employed young Jotham. 

In the meantime, work in the creamery was at a 
stand-still. It did not pay to buy cream only to 
grow sour, and the people who were in the habit 
pf supplying the creamery threatened to make an 

engagement to sell their cream to a rival firm in 
an adjoining town ; and the men who collected the 
cans of cream, although they received their pay- 
regularly, thought they had better offer their serv- 
ices to the rival firm, since it certainly seemed 
probable that the Potowka creamery would come 
to an untimely end and throw them out of employ- 
ment. The cream from their own cows was fed 
to the pigs, but they knew the difference, or John- 
nie fancied so, and grunted dolefully for their 
accustomed buttermilk. 

Orders came in thick and fast, with threatenings 
from the different firms to give their trade to those 
who could supply them promptly. Johnnie was at 
his wits' end. He had thought of telegraphing to 
his father to ask what he should do, but the doctor 
had said his father must have absolute freedom 
from care, and such news might be seriously injuri- 
ous to him. 

He might telegraph to Uncle Daniel, but what 
did Uncle Daniel know about it ? Aunt Daniel had 
come to the creamery, and had wrung her hands 
because the pigs were eating all the cream, and had 
said she should write to Uncle Daniel. She could 
if she wanted to, but he should n't, Johnnie said to 

But something must be done. Johnnie felt as 
if he should really become crazy, as he walked about 
the creamery and looked at the engine that did n't 
go, at the horses and wagons standing unused in the 
stable, at the empty churns, the empty butter- 
workers, and the pigs squealing for their butter- 

One day, he heard a man say that " the creamery 
never ought to have been left with nobody but a 
boy to look after it." And that day Johnnie made 
up his mind. 

The first thing he did after that important event 
happened was to go to see young Jotham Jenkin- 
son. The two boys had a long conference behind 
the wood-pile in young Jotham's back yard, John- 
nie insisting upon privacy. 

That the interview was satisfactory to Johnnie 
might be inferred from the fact that he turned a 
double somersault in the seclusion afforded by the 
wood-pile after young Jotham had left him. Young 
Jotham looked unusually serious as he returned to 
the house, but he was an old boy for his years, and 
had a great sense of responsibility about whatever 
he undertook. 

Johnnie was so grave and dignified when he 
re-appeared on the main street that nobody would 
have believed that wood-pile if it could have told 
what it had seen. 

He next made a call upon Absalom Decker. 
Absalom was a boy of about Johnnie's own age, 
who had worked more or less upon his father's 

i8s 3 .; 



farm since he left off wearing dresses. He was not 
a very brilliant scholar; he could do addition, if 
you gave him time, and he professed a firm belief 
that the earth was round, after being kept after 
school every day for a month to find it out, and, 
furthermore, having his faith aided by the school- 
master's rattan. But he had a cloudy idea that 
Patagonia was a suburb of Paris, and a strong 
conviction that the Sultan of Turkey was a North 
American Indian. 

But Absalom was a marvel of strength and 
toughness. He could do more work than any three 
boys in Potowka; and as for lifting, there were 
boys who believed he could lift the church and 
carry it off on his back if he wanted to. 

He was very slow of comprehension; it was a 
long time before he seemed to get any idea of 
Johnnie's plan, and then it required a great deal 
of logic and persuasion to make him agree to do 
what Johnnie wanted him to. He made so many 
objections, in his slow, stammering way, that John- 
nie almost lost heart, and quite lost his temper. 
Absalom was so aggravating, sitting on the top 
rail of the fence, with his hands in his pockets, and 
his long legs dangling, saying : 

" You 're the ser-mar-mar-martest boy I ever saw, 
Johnnie, but you ker-ker-can't do it 1 Men always 
work in a cre-cre-creamery, not b-b-boys. And 
Jotham might be reading a b-b-book — he always 
is reading a b-b-book — and let the b-b-boiler 
burst, and b-b-blow up ev-everything. Or the 
cars might go to ker-smash, and you 'd lose all 
your b-b-butter, or the ker-ker-cows get poisoned, 
or your father get well, or your Uncle D-D-Daniel 
come home, or s-s-something. S-s-something al- 
ways does happen to a b-b-boy ! " 

But in the end Johnnie secured Absalom's serv- 
ices, Absalom's father giving his consent, although 
with a good deal of amusement, as if he regarded 
it as a joke. 

Three or four other boys Johnnie hired without 
any difficulty, except in the matter of wages, they 
considering that they ought to receive as much as 
men if they did the same work, while Johnnie 
thought that when it came to the question of wages 
boys were boys ! 

Johnnie went home, and with his grandest air 
discharged the few remaining workmen from the 
creamery. In less than an hour the rumor had 
spread all over Potowka that Sparrow's creamery 
had closed for good. 

But, lo and behold ! the very next morning work 
was resumed. 

Collectors went over the old route and brought 
the big cream-cans back full. Into the churns 
went the cream, and the engine, starting up with as 
much spirit as if it had never known an idle 

moment, churned it into butter; it seemed to 
Johnnie that he had never heard such a delightful 
roar, and rush, and clatter. Strong hands moved 
the butter from the churns to the butter-workers, 
and with a whisk and a splash and a spatter the 
engine worked it ; and before night there were rows 
and rows of tubs ready to be sent to the railroad, 
early in the morning, and the pigs' voices were 
drowned in buttermilk ! 

And, as Patsy O'Brien, who took care of the pigs, 
remarked: "The workmin was ivery man o' them 
b'ys ! " 

It must be acknowledged that Johnnie strutted 
and tossed his head considerably about the streets 
of Potowka the next day. The general topic of 
conversation was the doings at the creamery ; and 
while there were some who ridiculed and prophe- 
sied that the prosperity would be short, and 
wondered where in the world Mr. Daniel Sparrow 
was, that that boy was allowed to go on as he did, 
there were others who had always known that 
Johnnie was an uncommonly smart boy, and since 
there was no work at the creamery that boys could 
not do, they saw no reason why it could not be kept 
running — provided, of course, that the boys did not 
get tired of it. 

The orders that came in were filled " with 
promptness and dispatch," to quote from telegrams 
which Johnnie sent to both his father and Uncle 
Daniel, and Aunt Daniel actually wept tears of 
joy at seeing the pigs restored to their buttermilk 
diet, and decided not to write to Uncle Daniel. A 
letter came from Johnnie's mother, who was with 
his father in Colorado, saying that it was gratifying - 
to hear that matters were going on so well at the 
creamery, but his father's condition was such that 
perhaps he had better say nothing about business 
in his letters for awhile. His father was perfectly 
confident that Jotham Jenkinson, the engineer, 
would manage the business as well as it could be 
done in his absence, and was able to keep it out of 
his mind if he heard nothing to recall it to him. 

Johnnie was sure that he should have no diffi- 
culty in obeying that injunction, and he trusted 
that nobody in Potowka would be so officious 
as to write to his father that the engineer was dis- 
abled, and boys were running the creamery. For 
although his father was a very sensible man. he 
might not be above the common prejudice about 
boys, and think they were not fit to manage a 
business and do the work alone. 

Uncle Daniel wrote that he was especially glad 
to hear that there was no trouble at the creamery, 
because he found that he should be detained for 
several weeks in New York. Johnnie felt that he 
could be resigned to Uncle Daniel's absence for as 
long a time as he found it convenient to stav. 




Uncle Daniel never seemed to have the least 
respect for boys, perhaps because he had none of 
his own, and knew very little about them. He 
would be sure to regard the doings at the creamery 
as mere child's play, and feel it to be his duty to 
make a revolution. For he thought the creamery 
had been left in his charge. And Jotham Jenkin- 
son, the engineer, thought it had been left in his. 
But Johnnie thought that, as it belonged to his 
father, it was clearly his right and duty to manage 
it, and he meant to do it. 

And now that his bold stroke had turned out so 
well, he felt himself to be master of the situation. 

A week passed, and work still went on prosper- 
ously at the creamery. Absalom Decker had 
thrashed Alonzo Herrick for spilling a can of butter- 
milk all over him ; and one of the collectors had 
stopped his team so long to watch a base-ball 
match that the cream had all soured ; and half a 
dozen cheeses had been gnawed by rats. But 
Johnnie was not discouraged by these little mis- 
adventures. He gravely admonished the guilty 
boys, and got a dozen traps and half as many cats 
to dispatch the rats ; and he wisely argued that 
he might have had the very same trials if he had 
hired workmen instead of work-boys. 

The boys became very proud of their position. 
They fully believed Johnnie when he told them 
that the work had never been so well done before, 
and, strange as it may seem, that was the root 
from which trouble sprang ! 

The boys decided that they ought to have higher 
wages, but when they expressed that opinion to 
Johnnie, he told them, with the firmness and deci- 
sion which he thought becoming to a man of busi- 
ness, that he should not pay them a penny more. 
He was paying them more than they could earn in 
any other way, and, besides, they felt a pride in the 
business ; there was no fear that any one of them 
would leave, Johnnie said to himself. And he 
adopted an independent and lordly bearing toward 
them which was intended to show them that there 
was not the slightest chance of his yielding to their 

That night the boys held a council in Jotham 
Jenkinson'sback yard, behind that identical wood- 
pile that had concealed Johnnie's somersault from 
the public gaze. 

Alonzo Herrick, who was the chief spokesman, 
had a newspaper containing an account of a strike 
of iron-workers in a Pennsylvania city, which he 
read aloud to the boys, who listened with breathless 

Potowka was in the midst of a farming region, 
and strikes were almost unheard of; but they all 
agreed with Alonzo Herrick that there was no 
reason why Potowka boys should allow their rights 

to be trampled upon — all except Absalom Decker ; 
he had some misgivings. 

He " did n't know but they had b-b-better keep 
right on, seeing Johnnie was n't one to give in 
easy." But Absalom was soon brought to terms 
by the other boys, and the momentous agreement 
to strike for higher wages the next day was made, 
and solemnly ratified. 

So it happened that the next forenoon, just as 
some extra orders came in, which it was very im- 
portant to have filled at once, Johnnie went into 
the creamery and found work stopped, with the 
churns full of cream that was just beginning to 
show little floating specks of butter, and the cream- 
cans empty that should have gone out on their 
daily routes to be filled with cream at the neighbor- 
ing farms ; with the butter-workers full of half- 
worked butter, and the tubs and firkins that ought 
to be filled and on their way to market still empty. 
Johnnie might have been at a loss to understand 
what it all meant if it had not been for placards 
pasted upon the walls, with these astonishing sen- 
timents, in very black letters, upon them : " Down 
with The Opresur!" " Potowka Boys Never will 
Be Slaves!" "Good Work deserves Good 
Wages!" " Laber is King!" "Down with the 
Tirant ! " " Long Live the People! " " We Must 
and Will have Bread ! " 

Johnnie was considerably impressed. They cer- 
tainly were very fine sentiments, even with their 
glory somewhat marred by faulty spelling.- He 
felt guilty, as if he really were an "opresur" and 
a " tirant." 

But after he had reflected a little, and become 
somewhat accustomed to these placards, with their 
big black letters staring at him, and calling him 
names, his feelings changed. Johnnie possessed a 
liberal share of that lively commodity known as 
temper. And it flared up. 

If those boys thought they could get the better 
of him, and make him pay them more wages by 
any such trick as that, they were mistaken ! He 
would get others to take their places at once. 

But how? Johnnie's heart sank as that question 
confronted him. He knew there was not a boy 
in Potowka, except young Jotham Jenkinson, who 
understood how to run the engine, and there was 
scarcely one to be hired for the other work. 

Suddenly, in the midst of his despair, a bright 
idea struck Johnnie. There was a cheese manu- 
factory at Yankton, a town twenty miles away, 
from which he had heard that a good many boys 
had been lately discharged. He had a vague recol- 
lection of hearing that it was for misconduct that 
they had been discharged, but they would be sure 
to know something about the business, and one 
could not be stopped by trifles in such an emer- 

HOW J O H N N I E S M E N S T R U C K \Y I I K K , 


gency ! If they were bad boys, Johnnie felt sure 
that he could manage them. And in a very short 
space of time he was on his way to Yankton, pre- 
pared to offer almost any wages to the discharged 

They were a rough-looking set, — Johnnie was 
forced to acknowledge that to himself, but they 
were big and strong, and two of them professed to 
understand how to run an engine ; so, although 
they called him " young feller," and various other 
slang names that tried his dignity, and persisted in 
regarding his offers as a joke, Johnnie used all the 
arguments he could think of to persuade them, and 
they finally promised to go to Potowka the next 
day, and "see how they liked the looks of things." 

On that next day, the boys who had disappeared, 
not only from the creamery but from the streets 
of the town, as suddenly as if the earth had opened 
and swallowed them up, came slinking around the 
creamery. In some way, they seemed to have got 
an inkling of what was going to happen. (Johnnie 
had confided it to a few intimate friends.) Young 
Jotham Jenkinson and one or two others made 
several shy hitches, and cast conciliatory glances 
in Johnnie's direction, but Johnnie ignored them, 
save for a scornful look. If only his new hands 
came, as they had agreed, he should be master of 
the situation, and could bid defiance to the strikers. 

In any case, he would not take them back, 
though they should get down on their knees to 

And there the new hands were ! A group of 
rough-looking boys, probably just alighted from the 
train, was coming up the road toward the creamery. 
Very rough-looking they were. The guardians of 
public morals in Potowka were very strict, and 
Johnnie had some fear that his new workmen 
would be arrested as suspicious and desperate-look- 
ing characters before they reached the creamery. 

But no such misfortune befell them ; they came 
shuffling and swaggering up to the creamery, while 
the old hands, who had gathered themselves into 
a group, looked at them and then at each other 
in wonder and dismay. 

Suddenly — if any of his movements could be 
described as sudden — Absalom Decker planted 
himself in the door-way. 

" Maybe you 'd b-b-better not let them in here ! 
We might be apt to p-p-pitch them out," he said 
to Johnnie. 

"Remember what the strikers did that I read 
about, boys ! " cried Alonzo Herrick, putting him- 
self into a fighting attitude. 

'" Well, now, if there 's going be fun, 'twas n't 
such a bad plan for us to come," said the biggest 
of the new hands, proceeding, with great delibera- 
tion, to take off his jacket. 

Matters were assuming a serious aspect. John- 
nie, who had a great horror of a disturbance, began 
to have an uneasy consciousness that he was not 
going to be master of the situation; that position 
was being rapidly taken out of his hands. The 
queerest thing about it was that, now that these 
Yankton roughs seemed about to engage in a fight 
with the Potowka boys, Johnnie felt an impulse to 
pitch in on the Potowka side. The origin of the 
difficulty, and the fact that the Potowka boys were 
the aggressors, seemed to escape his mind. Some 
of the Potowka boys wavered and hung back a little 
— the Yankton boys were so much larger, and were 
evidently so much more used to warfare; but Absa- 
lom Decker was evidently all ready to "grace 
battle's brunt." 

There was a kind of savage war-whoop, and a 
wild rush, when suddenly into the midst of the 
melee stepped Uncle Daniel ! He had his port- 
manteau in his hand, and his spectacles and tall 
hat on awry. His clothes were very dusty, his 
face was very red, and he was almost breathless 
with haste and anger. 

"A pretty state of things, upon my word!" he 
cried, while the combatants fell back, but remained 
in fighting attitude, as if all ready to resume hostil- 
ities the moment the interruption should be over. 
"A pretty state of things! Half the men in 
Potowka writing to me to come home and save 
the creamery from going to ruin ! And I should 
think it was time ! Hiring a lot of boys to run 
the creamery ! Why was n't I informed that the 
engineer was sick? I never heard of a boy taking 
so much upon himself since I was born ! But it 's 
a good deal the fault of your bringing up, and I 
shall tell your father so ! When I was young, boys 
were kept in their places ! It's a wonder you 
have n't been chosen Selectman before this time ! 
Maybe that's too small business for you, though ! 
I expect you '11 be running for President in a year 
or two ! " 

All these unpleasant remarks Johnnie bore with 
meekness. Uncle Daniel had come at an oppor- 
tune moment, and the relief that Johnnie felt in his 
presence made the sting of his words less hard to 

" Now I would have you to understand," pursued 
Uncle Daniel, turning from Johnnie to the crowd 
of boys, " that I am the manager of this creamery, 
and I don't want to hire any boys ! The sooner 
you 're off the premises the better ! " 

The Yankton boys demurred, and made some 
threats of thrashing Johnnie forgetting them there 
under false pretenses, but they finally decided that 
discretion was the better part of valor, and moved 

The Potowka boys gathered around Johnnie, 

6 4 8 



their late " opresur" and " tirant," with an air of 
sympathy and good-fellowship. 

"I telegraphed to your father how things were 
going," said Uncle Daniel, " and asked him what 
1 should do, and here's his answer!" And he 
drew a telegram from his pocket, and unfolded it 
before Johnnie's eyes, and, what was worse, before 
the eyes of all the boys. It contained these four 
crushing words : 

" Send Johnnie to school." 

" D-d-don't you mind, Johnnie," said Absalom 
Decker, " I t-t-told you so ! Folks are always 
d-d-down on a b-b-bov." 

" if you had n't struck, it would have been all 
right ! " said Johnnie, returning to his grievances 
against his friends, now that the common enemy- 
had departed. "We were going on splendidly! 
Boys are fools, anyway ! " 

"It would have been all right if you had paid us 

the wages that we ought to have had ! " put in 
Alonzo Herrick. " Boys don't know how to man- 
age business ! " 

" You would have struck before long if I had," 
grumbled Johnnie. " You wanted to do it for the 
fun of it ! " 

And there was a guilty look on the faces of the 
boys ! 

At the Drumfield Academy, where Johnnie is a 
pupil, the boys are often entertained by wonderful 
stories of the success of the Potowka creamery when 
Johnnie managed it ; but just how Johnnie's man- 
agement came to an end they have never had 
explained to them. 

Johnnie has decided that, after all, he shall not 
have a creamery when he grows up. There are so 
many vexations attendant upon a business life that 
he has returned to his old plan of a future career, 
and means to run for Congress. 

"Old King Cole was a jolly old soul, 
And a jolly old soul was he ; 
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl. 
And he called for his fiddlers three." 

Now who were the fiddlers? And what did they fiddle. 

And where were the fiddlers three ? 
A fiddle for fiddles ! King Cole is a riddle — ■ 

The fiddlers are down by the sea. 

"IN the cool of the morning." 


New Sekies. 

By Harry M. Kieffer. 


We had been lying in winter quarters at Belle 
Plain some two months, early in the spring of 1S63, 
without having yet had much to vary the dull 
monotony of a soldier's ordinary life. There was. 
of course, plenty of work in the way of picket-duty 
and endless drilling, and an abundance of fun in 
the camp, of one kind or other ; but of the fatigues 

of the march and the excitement of battle we could 
so far form not the slightest conception. It is my 
purpose, in the present paper, to give the readers 
of St. Nicholas some little account of our first 
mud-march, and the sham battle to which it led. 

It was Monday, April 20th, 1863. when we sud- 
denly received orders for the march. As good 
luck would have it, Andy and I had just finished 
a hearty meal on apple-fritters ; for by this time 
we had repaired our chimney, which had been 
destroyed bv the fire, and had already several 





times prepared our fritters without burning our 
house down over our heads in the operation. 
Having finished our meal, we were lying lazily- 
back against our knapsacks, disputing whose turn 
it was to wash the dishes, when Andy, half-catch- 
ing the sound of an unusual order, with the nim- 
bleness of a frog suddenly leaped out of the little 
door in the side of our cabin into the Company 
street, exclaiming : 

'• What 's that, Sergeant ? What 's up ?" 

" Orders to move, that 's all," said the sergeant. 
"Orders to move — that's what! Pack up imme- 

" Where are we going? " queried a dozen voices 
in chorus, as the boys tumbled out of their tents 
and gathered about the sergeant in a group. 

" You tell me and 1 '11 tell you," answered the 
sergeant, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he 
shouted: "Pack up immediately, men! We go 
in light marching order. No knapsacks ; only a 
shelter or gum-blanket, and three days' rations in 
your haversacks, and be lively now." 

It was not long before we were all ready, our 
haversacks duly supplied with hard-tack, pork, 
coffee, and sugar, and our gum-blankets or shel- 
ters, rolled and twisted into a shape somewhat 
resembling an immense horse-collar, slung over 
the shoulder diagonally across the body, as was 
universally the custom with the troops when' knap- 
sacks were to be dispensed with in winter, or had 
been thrown away in summer. We drummer- 
boys, tightening our drums and tuning them 
up with a tap-tap-tap ! of the drum-stick, took 
station on the parade-ground upon the hill, await- 
ing the adjutant's signal to beat the assembly. 
At the first tap of our drums, the whole regiment, 
in full view below us, poured out from its quar- 
ters, like ants tumbling out of their hill when 
disturbed by the thrust of a stick. As the men 
fell into line and marched by companies up the 
hill to the parade-ground, where the regiment was 
ordinarily formed, cheer upon cheer went up ; for 
the monotony of camp life was plainly at an end, 
and we were at last to be up and doing, though 
where, or how, or what, no one could tell. 

When a drum-head is wet, it at once loses all 
its charm and power, for it sounds as hoarse as a 
frog. On the present occasion our drum-heads 
were soon soaked, for it was raining hard. So, 
unloosing the ropes, we slung our useless sheep- 
skins over our shoulders, as the order was given : 
" Forward, route-step, march ! " The order of 
"route-step" was always a merciful and welcome 
command ; for the readers of ST. Nicholas must 
remember that troops on a march always go by the 
"route-step." They march usually four abreast, but 
make no effort to keep step ; for marching in reg- 

ular step, though good enough for a mile or two 
on parade, would soon become intolerable if kept 
up for any great distance. In " route-step," each 
man picks his way, selecting his steps at his pleas- 
ure, and carrying or shifting his arms at his con- 
venience. Even then marching is no easy matter, 
especially when it is raining, and you are marching 
over a clay soil. The soil about Belle Plain was 
the toughest and most slippery clay in the world, 
it seemed to us — at least, in the roads that wound 
serpent-like around the hills, among which we 
were marching, and where many a poor mule, 
during the winter, stuck fast and had to be 
pulled out, or, if that was impracticable, left to 
die in his tracks after the harness had been ripped 
off his back. 

At first, however, we had tolerable marching, 
for we took across the fields and kept well up on 
the high ground as long as we could. We passed 
some good farms and comfortable-looking houses, 
where we should have liked to go in and buy some 
bread and butter, or get some pie and milk ; but 
there was no time for that, for we made no halt 
longer than was necessary to allow the rear to 
" close up," and then were up and away again at 
a swift pace. 

The afternoon wore on. Night set in, and we 
began to wonder, in all the simplicity of new 
troops, whether Lmcle Sain expected us to march 
all night as well as all day. To make matters 
worse, as night fell dark and drizzling, we left the 
high ground and came out on the main road of 
those regions: and if we never before knew what 
Virginia mud was like, we knew it now. It was 
knee-deep, and so sticky that, when you set one 
foot down, you could scarcely pull out the other. 
As for myself, I found my side-arms (if they deserve 
to be dignified by that title) quite an incumbrance. 
Drummer-boys carried no arms, except a straight, 
thin sword fastened to a broad leathern belt about 
the waist. Of this we were at the outstart quite 
proud, and kept it polished with great care. How- 
ever, this "toad-sticker," as we called it, caused 
us a world of trouble on this mud-march, and 
well illustrated the saying that " pride goes before 
a fall." For as we groped about in the darkness, 
and slid and plunged about in the mud, this 
sword was forever getting tangled up with the 
wearer's legs, and, whenever it came between his 
knees, down he went sprawling on his face in the 
mud. My own toad-sticker I handed to the quar- 
termaster after this march was done, agreeing to 
pay the price of it thrice over rather than to carry 
it any more. The rest of the drummer-boys, I 
believe, carried theirs as far as Chancellorsville, 
and then solemnly hung them up on an oak tree 
— where they are to this day, unless some one has 

isa 3 .; 



found them and carried them off as trophies of 

We had a little darkey along on this mud- 
march, who had an experience that night which 
was as provoking to him as it was amusing to us. 
The darkey's name was Bill. Other name he had 
none, except " Shorty," which had been given him 
by the boys because of his remarkably short stat- 
ure. For, although he was as strong and as old- 
featured as a man, he was so dwarfed in size that 
the name Shorty seemed to become him better 
than his original name of Bill. Well, Shorty had 
been employed by one of the captains as cook — 
which office, on this occasion, seemed also to in- 
clude the duties of a sumpter mule. For the cap- 
tain, having an eye to comfort, had loaded the poor 
darkey with a pack of blankets, tents, pans, and 

we forded a creek, and kept still on and on, till at 
last we were allowed to halt and fall out on either 
side of the road into a last year's corn-field, to 
" make fires and cook coffee.'' 

To make a fire was an easy matter, notwith- 
standing the rain. For some one or other always 
had matches, and there were plenty of rails at hand, 
and these were dry enough when split open by a 
hatchet or ax. In a few moments the fence 
around the corn-field was carried off, rail by rail, 
and everywhere was heard the sound of axes or 
hatchets, the premonitory symptoms of roaring 
camp-fires, which were soon everywhere blazing 
along the road. 

" Harry," said my lieutenant, " I have n't any 
tin cup, and when you get your cup of coffee 
cooked, I believe I '11 share it with you. May I ? " 


general camp equipage, so large and bulky, that 
it is no exaggeration to say that Shorty's pack was 
quite as large as himself. All along it had been a 
wonder to us how he had managed to pull through 
so far with all that immense bundle on his back ; 
but, with strength far beyond his size, he had 
trudged on at the captain's heels over hill and 
through field quite well, till we came at night-fall 
to the main road. There, like many another 
sumpter mule, he stuck fast in the mud, so that 
he could not pull out either foot, and had to be 
dragged out by force. 

At length, in the thick darkness, no one being 
able to see an inch before his face, we lost the 
road. Torches were then lighted to find it. Then 

"Certainly, Lieutenant. But where will I get 
water to make the coffee ? It 's so dark nobody 
can see how the land lies so as to find a spring." 

The lieutenant not being able to aid me with 
any suggestions, I silently, and without telling 
him what I was about, scooped up a tin cupful 
of water (whether clean or muddy I could not tell 
— it was too dark to see) out of a corn-furrow. 
I had the less hesitation in doing so, because I 
found all the rest were doing the same, and if 
they could stand it, I could too. Tired as I 
was, I could not help but be sensible of the 
strange, weird appearance the troops presented, 
as coming out of the surrounding darkness I faced 
the brilliant light, with groups of busy men every- 

'5 2 



where. There they sat, squatting about the fires, 
each man with his quart tin cup suspended on his 
iron ramrod, or on some convenient stick, and each 
eager and impatient to be the first to bring his cup 
to the boil. Thrusting my cup in among the 
dozen others already smoking amid the crackling 
flames, I soon had the pleasure of seeing the foam 
rise to the surface — a sure indication that my 
coffee was nearly clone. When the lieutenant and 
I had finished drinking it, I called his attention to 
the half-inch of mud in the bottom of the cup, and 
asked him how he liked coffee made out of water 
taken from a last year's corn-furrow. " First-rate," 
he replied, as he took out his tobacco-pouch and 
pipe for a smoke — " first-rate. Gives it a good 
flavor, you see." 

"Fall in!" It was now half-past eleven o'clock, 
and away we went again, slap-dash, in the thick 
darkness and bottomless mud. At three o'clock in 
the morning, during a brief halt, I fell asleep sitting 
on my drum, and tumbled over into the road from 
sheer exhaustion. Partly aroused by my fall, I 
spread out my shelter on the road where the mud 
seemed the shallowest, and lay down to sleep, 
shivering like an aspen. 

At six o'clock we were aroused. And a pretty 
appearance we presented, for every man was cov- 
ered with mud from neck to heels. However, day- 
light having now come to our assistance, we marched 
on in merrier mood toward Port Royal, a place or 
village on the Rappahannock, some thirty miles 
below Fredericksburg, and reached our destina- 
tion about ten o'clock that forenoon. 

As we emerged from the woods and came out 
into the open fields, with the river in full view 
about a quarter of a mile in front, we were per- 
suaded that now at last we were to go into battle. 
And so indeed it seemed, as the long column 
halted in a corn-field a short distance from the 
river, and the pontoon trains came up, and the 
pioneers were sent forward to help lay the 
bridge, and signal flags began flying, and officers 
and orderlies began to gallop gaily over the field 
— of course we were now about to go into our first 

" I guess we '11 have to cross the river, Harry," 
said Andy, as we stood beside a corn-shock and 
watched the operations of the men engaged in 
putting down the pontoons, " and we '11 have to 
go in on 'em and gobble 'em up." 

" Yes," answered I, " ' gobbling up' is all right ; 
but suppose that over in the woods, on the other 
side of the river yonder, there might happen to be 
a lot of Johnnies watching us, and ready to sweep 
down and gobble us up while we are crossing 
the river — eh? That would n't be nearly so 
nice, would it ? " 

" Hah ! " exclaimed Andy," I 'd like to see 'em 
do it ! Look there ! There come the boys that 11 
drive the Johnnies through the brush ! " 

Looking in the direction Andy was pointing, — 
that is, away to the skirt of the woods in our rear, 
— I beheld a battery of artillery coming up at full 
gallop toward us, and making straight for the 

'•Just you wait, now,"' said Andy, with a trium- 
phant snap of his fingers, "till you hear those old 
bull-dogs begin to bark once, and you '11 see the 
Johnnies get up and dust." 

As the battery came near the spot where we 
were standing, and could be plainly seen, I ex- 
claimed : 

"Why, Andy, I don't believe those dogs can 
bark at all ! Don't you see ? They are wooden 
logs covered over with black gum-blankets and 
mounted on the front wheels of wagons, and — as 
sure as you 're alive, it 's our Quartermaster on his 
gray horse in command of the batter)' ! " 

'" Well, I declare ! " said Andy, with a look of 
mingled surprise and disappointment. 

There was no disputing the fact. Dummies thev 
were, those cannon which Andy had so exultingly 
declared were to drive the Johnnies through the 
brush. And we began at once to suspect that this 
whole mud-march was only a miserable ruse or 
feint of war, got up expressly for the purpose of 
deceiving the enemy, so that there was n't going to 
be any battle after all ! Such indeed, as we learned 
later, was the true state of the case. But, never- 
theless, the pioneers went on putting down the 
pontoon boats for a bridge, and our gallant Quarter- 
master, on his bob-tail gray, with drawn sword, 
and shouting out his commands like a major-gen- 
eral, swept by us with his battery of wooden guns, 
and away out into the field like a whirlwind, appar- 
ently bent on the most bloody work imaginable. 
Now the battery would dash up and unlimber and 
get into position here ; then, after an imaginary 
discomfiture of the enemy at this point, away it 
would dash on a gallop across the field and go 
into position there, while the Quartermaster would 
swing his sword and shout himself hoarse as if in 
the very crisis of the battle. 

It was, then, alas ! all a ruse, and there would 
be no battle after all. About nine o'clock that 
night we were all withdrawn from the river-side 
under cover of darkness, and bivouacked in the 
woods to our rear, where we were ordered to make 
as many and as large fires as we could, so as to 
attract the enemy's attention, and make him be- 
lieve that the whole army of the Potomac was con- 
centrating at that point ; whereas, the truth was 
that, instead of making any movement thirty miles 
below Fredericksburg, the L nion army, ten davs 



later, crossed the river thirty miles above Freder- 
icksburg, and met the enemy at Chancellorsville. 

But I have never forgotten our gallant Quarter- 
master, and what a fine appearance he made as 
the commanding officer of a battery of artillery. 
It was an amusing sight, for my readers must 
remember that a quartermaster, having to do only 
with army supplies, was a non-combatant — that is, 
did no fighting, and, in most cases, "staid by the 
stuff" among his army wagons, which were usually 
far enough to the rear in time of battle. 

Thinking of this little episode on our first mud- 
march, the writer recalls a conversation he had 
recently with a gentleman, his neighbor, who had 
also been a cpaartermaster in the Union army : 

" I was down in Virginia on business last spring," 
said the ex-quartermaster, " and I found the people 
there very kind and friendly indeed. One man 
came up to me, and says he : 

" ' Major, you were in the war, of course, were 
you not ? ' 

" ' Yes,' said I, ' I was. But I was on the other 
side of the fence. 1 was in the Union army.' 

" 'You were? Well, Major, did you ever kill 
anybody ? ' 

" ' Lots of 'em ! ' said I. ' Lots of 'em ! ' 

" ' You don't say so ! ' said the Virginian ; ' and 
how did you generally kill them ? ' 

'''Well,' said I, 'I never like to tell, because 
line; but I '11 tell you. You 

see, I never liked this thing of shooting people, 
because I was a kind of Quaker, and had con- 
scientious scruples about bearing arms. And so, 
when the war broke out, I entered the army as a 
quartermaster, thinking that in that position 1 
would n't have to kill anybody with a gun, anyhow. 
But war is a dreadful thing — a dreadful thing, sir. 
I found that even a quartermaster had to take a 
hand at killing people, and the way I took for it 
was this : I always managed to have a good, swift 
horse, and as soon as things would begin to look a 
little like fighting, and the big guns would begin to 
go off, why I 'd clap spurs to my horse and make 
for the rear as fast as ever I could ; and then when 
your people would come after me, they never could 
catch me — they 'd always get out of breath trying 
to come up to me ; and in that way I Ye killed 
dozens of your people, sir — dozens of 'em, and all 
without powder or ball. They could n't catch me, 
and always died for want of breath trying to get 
hold of me ! ' " 

We slept in the woods that night under the dark 
pine trees and beside our great camp-fires ; and 
early the next morning took up the line of march 
for home. We marched all day over the hills, and, 
as the sun was setting, came at last to a certain hill- 
top whence we could look down upon the odd- 
looking group of cabins and wigwams which we 
recognized as our camp, and which we hailed with 
cheers as our home. 

( To ItS Continued. ) 








By Maurice Thompson. 

Chapter VII. 


Following the advice of a shrewd forester. 
King Edward took five of his noblest and bravest 
knights and went to an abbey, where they procured 
monkish clothing and disguised themselves as 
ecclesiastics, the King donning the Abbot's apparel. 
Thus completely transformed in appearance, they 
set out to search for Robin Hood, guided on their 
way by the forester, and followed by servants with 

As they rode through the forest, they heard the 
woodwile singing in the cool, shadowy tops of the 
trees. The King was in a very gay mood. He 
felt sure that Robin and his men could not pene- 
trate his disguise or in any way discover his 
identity. The guide, who, as I am inclined to 
think, was really one of Robin's company, led the 
way directly toward the trystel tree ; but before 
they reached it they were seized by some of Robin 
Hood's watchful foresters, who took them to dine 
with the chief, as was their custom when they 
captured a rich company. 

Robin took hold of the King's horse, and said : 

" Sir Abbot, we are yeomen and freemen of this 
forest. We are the protectors and guardians of 
the poor against the oppression of the rich. You 
grind the bread from our poor people to make you 
fat. Now, in turn, I shall take from 5-011 your 
money, and divide it among the poor." 

King Edward, adopting the tone and manner of 
an abbot, said in reply : 

" I have but fifty pounds left. I have been with 
the King and his nobles at Nottingham, and have 
spent a great deal there. What I have left 1 give 
you freely." 

Robin took one-half of the money and gave it to 
his yeomen ; the rest he returned to the supposed 
abbot, saying as he did so : 

" Keep this — I do not wish to cause any one to 
suffer. We shall meet again some day." 

This strange generosity touched the King. He 
drew forth his broad seal, and handing it to Robin, 
said : 

"The King sends you his seal with greeting, 
and cordially invites you to come to him at Notting- 
ham and partake of his royal hospitality." 

Robin knew the seal was genuine. He felt a 
thrill of delight run through him. He had long 

desired to become friendly with Edward, and get 
his royal sanction to live unmolested in the forest 
he loved so well. He bowed before the seal, and 
said : 

" I love my Kingabove all men. In token of my 
delight at this good word from the comely and 
generous Edward, I bid you welcome to this forest, 
and you shall dine with me under my trystel tree." 

He took the King by the hand, and courteously 
led him to the space where the yeomen usually 
dined. Here he caused a sumptuous meal to be 
spread. There was fat venison and roasted pheas- 
ants and broiled trout, with wine and ale. 

Rubin lifted his bugle horn, so famous in song 
and story, and blew a cheery blast upon it. In re- 
sponse there came from all parts of the forest seven 
score yeomen, all dressed in green mantles and 
armed with beautiful yew bows. Each of them in 
turn knelt on the ground before Robin Hood, as a 
sign of their respect for him and of their readiness 
to do his bidding. 

" This is a rare and beautiful sight," thought 
King Edward. "This outlaw's men are more 
obedient and deferential to him than are my men 
to me ! " 

When the dinner was ready, Robin Hood and 
Little John waited upon the King, doing everything 
in their power to please and entertain him. 

"Eat and be men). Sir Abbot," said Robin, 
graciously, " and a blessing on you for the good 
tidings you have brought from the King. Before 
you leave, I will show you how we live and how we 
sport in the greenwood, so that you may tell the 
King when you go back to Nottingham." 

The meal being now over, Robin Hood suddenly 
gave a sharp signal, w hereupon his men sprang up 
and seized their bows in an instant. The King was 
terribly frightened. He thought that he and his 
followers were to be slain outright. He was mis- 
taken, however, as he soon discovered. The yeo- 
men were merely preparing to give an exhibition 
of archery. Willow rods, two yards long, and 
peeled so as to be bright and white, were set up to 
be shot at. The King was surprised when he saw 
the great distance to the marks. His bowmen could 
not shoot so far with any accuracy by at least forty 

A garland of wild roses was hung on each rod or 

"Now," said Robin to his men. "whosoever 
shall miss the garland at which he aims shall for- 

* Copyright, 1882, by Maurice Thompsi 

■6 5 6 



feit his arrow and shall receive a buffet with the hand 
on the side of his head. No one shall be spared.'' 
So they began to shoot, Robin joining in the 
game. One yeoman missed his aim, and Robin 
struck him a powerful slap, making the fellow's 
head ring and ache. Gilbert with the white hand, 
Little John, and Scathelock shot surpassingly well, 
as did man)- others of the merry foresters. When 
it came Robin's turn to shoot he excelled them all, 
cleaving the garland with every shaft save the last, 
which by some mischance flew more than three 
finger's-widths wide of the mark. Thereupon 
Gilbert with the white hand said 

" Master, you must take 
your buffet. You have 
missed. Stand out, and 
take what we all have 
to accept when we 

•• Very well," 
said Robin. " Sir 
Abbot, I deliver 
my forfeited arrow 
to you. Here, deal 
me a buffet on the 
side of the head." 
Robin was cun- 
ning. He knew 

that the church- 
men did not work 

or take any man- 
ual exercise; 

wherefore their 

hands were soft 

and their muscles 

weak. A blow 

from the Abbot's 

hand, he thought, 

would not be 

much to bear. 
•'It does not 

become one of my 

order to strike a 

man." said the 

King, speaking as 

an abbot might. 

" I fear 1 may 

hurt you." 

• • Strike away ! " KING ED v- A 

exclaimed Robin, 

turning the side of his head to the Kin_ 

you full liberty. It is our rule." 

Then the King rolled up his sleeve and struck 

Robin Hood a tremendous slap, which knocked him 

almost flat upon the ground. The yeomen were 

astonished. How could an ecclesiastic show such 

strength? Surely there must be some mistake. 

Robin was surprised as well as pained. He 
stared at the King, and cried out : "I vow you are 
a stalwart abbot ! There is strength in your arm. 
You would make a good bowman and shoot well." 

He looked searchinglv into the King's face. He 



I give 

had penetrated the disguise, and all of a sudden 
he knew that Edward stood before him. At the 
same instant the knight, Sir Richard at the Lea. 
also recognized the King. They both knelt upon 
the ground, and Robin said : 

" I know you now, my King, and I beg your 
mercy for myself and all my merrv men." 



" Upon one condition I can grant your request," 
said the King: " you and all your company shall 
go with me to my court and enter into my serv- 

" 1 promise," said Robin. " I will take seven 
score and three of the best archers in the world 
into your service." 

And now a happy thought came into Edward's 
mind. He procured from Robin's store green 
mantels for himself and his followers, which they 
put on, and they took bows in their hands. 

"Now," merrily cried the King, "let us go 
back to Nottingham all together, as a band of good 

So off they went, shooting at marks on the way. 
Robin and the King rode side by side through the 
green groves and along the shady lanes, their men 
following in a jolly mood, singing and talking to- 
gether. Robin and Edward gave each other heavy 
buffets whenever the mark was missed by either, — 
the winner buffeting the loser, — and they did not 
spare each other a whit, but laid on with full 

The people of Nottingham were greatly fright- 
ened when this rollicking band of bowmen came 
into the town. They knew the uniform of the out- 
laws, and supposed that their King had been killed, 
and that Robin Hood had come with his men to 
murder them all. They all, old and young, 
male and female, rich and poor, fled, and left the 
town deserted. 

Edward enjoyed their consternation ; but he 
called them back and ordered a great feast. He 
pardoned the outlaws, and restored the estates of Sir 
Richard at the Lea. All the people of the country 
rejoiced, and feasted, and danced under the trees. 

When the King went back to London, Robin 
and his men accompanied him, and they were 
made a part of the Royal Band of Archers. 

For a time this life at the King's court was 
pleasant; but the men began at length to long for 
their old happy days under the greenwood tree. 
So, one by one, they slipped away and went back 
to the forest, to chase the deer and shoot the pheas- 
ant in freedom. 

Finally, one day Robin went and knelt before the 
King, saying : 

" My Lord, the King of England, I beg to go 
back and visit Barnesdale. These seven nights I 
have not slept a wink, and for seven days I have 
not been able to eat even a morsel of food. 1 pray 
you, let me go." 

" You may be gone seven days and no longer," 
said the King. 

Robin thanked him, and seizing his good bow 
he made haste to reach the greenwood. 

It was a beautiful spring morning when he ar- 
Vol. X. — 42. 

rived in the forest near his trystcl tree. The birds 
he loved so well were singing everywhere. The 
perfume of wild flowers loaded the air. He was 

A fat hart came bounding along. Robin bent 
his bow and brought down the game. Then he 
blew his bugle horn, as he had done of old. The 
merry blast went echoing through the groves, and 
the lurking yeomen, hearing it, knew that their 
beloved chief had returned. They flocked around 
him and fell upon their knees. Once more they 
all were happy and free. 

For twenty-two years longer Robin Hood lived 
in the greenwood. The King could not get him 
to again give up his merry life for all the gayeties 
and splendors of the court. 

Chapter VIII. 


The years went merrily by. Robin Hood and 
his bold men refused to submit to the King's 
authority, because he upheld the right of the rich 
nobles to oppress the poor by exacting exorbitant 
taxes from them. Many expeditions were fitted 
out and dispatched against the outlaws. All were 
disastrously unsuccessful, though at times Robin 
was forced to fly from town to town for fear of 

At last the outlaw chief was beginning to grow 
old and his strength was failing somewhat, when 
the King ordered Sir William, a bold and powerful 
knight, to take a hundred of the very best of the 
English bowmen, and go make an end of the 
rebellion of the foresters. 

" Go to bold Robin Hood," said the King, 
"and tell him to surrender to my authority, or 
else he and his men shall all be killed. Take a 
hundred of my strongest and truest archers, armed 
in the best manner, and lead them into the forest 
till you find the outlaws." 

Sir William answered that he would do the 
King's bidding, and that he would fetch Robin 
Hood, dead or alive, to the court. 

It was midsummer when this carefully chosen 
company set out for the greenwood to search for 
the merry bowmen of Sherwood and Barnesdale. 
Their spears and swords, their bows and arrows, 
and their gay uniforms, shone bravely as they 
marched along. 

When they had reached the forest, Sir William 
bade his men halt and stay there with their bows 
ready, while he went to summon the outlaws to sur- 
render. In the midst of a grove, under a tent or 
canopy, he found Robin, who, when told to sur- 
render, stood up and defied the King and all his 




armies. "So long," he cried, '"as I have seven Chapter IX. 

score brave archers to do my bidding, I never will 

be controlled by any king or his officers. Tell thk death of robin HOOD. 

them this for me." 

Sir William then attempted to take Robin by All accounts affirm that Robin Hood lived to a 

surprise, but one of the foresters, Locksley by very old age, and at last died by treachery. He 

name, frustrated his plan. had a cousin, who was the prioress of a nunnery 

Robin Hood blew his horn. The knight, Sir called Kirklees, and when he was aged and infirm, 


William, blew his. In a moment the followers of 
each rushed to the spot and formed about the 

A terrible and bloody fight ensued, in which Sir 
William was killed and his men driven from the 

This was the last effort made to subdue the 
merry greenwood rovers. Thenceforth they were 
left free to dwell in the forests unmolested. 

They shot the deer and caught the trout, they 
helped the poor tillers of the soil against the usury 
and tithe-taking of the rich, until at last wiser laws 
were enacted, and the blessing of freedom was se- 
cured to all. 

and suffering from an attack of disease, he went to 
her to be bled. In those days, blood-letting was 
considered a remedy against many kinds of illness. 
Robin was very sick when he reached the gate 
of the nunnery, where he was met by his cousin. 
Little thinking of treachery, he suffered her to con- 
duct him to a room and open a vein in his arm. 
There he was left bleeding. The door of the room 
was locked, and the window was too high above 
ground to admit of jumping out. He remained in 
this state till the next day at noon, when he 
thought to blow a blast on his horn. It was but a 
quavering and feeble sound. One faithful soul 
caught it. however. Little John was lingering 


6 59 

about, waiting to see his beloved master. When 
he heard the mournful blast, he sprang up and hur- 
ried to the nunnery. He broke locks and dashed 
open doors until he 1 cached the room where Robin 
lay dying. He fell on his knees, and begged to be 
allowed to burn Kirklees Hall and all the nunnery; 
but Robin said: "No, I never hurt a woman in 
my life, nor a man in company with a woman, and 
I will not allow such a thing to be done now. But 
string my bow for me, and give me it and a broad 
arrow, which I will shoot from the window, and 
where that arrow falls there let my grave be dug. 
Lay a green sod under my head and another at 
my feet ; and lay my bent bow by my side, for it 
has always made sweet music for me." 

This request was complied with by Little John. 

The arrow that Robin shot fell under a tree, and 
there the bold chief was buried. His death was 
probably near the year 1300. 

Some worthy historians have doubted whether 
such a man as Robin Hood ever lived, and have 
classed the stories of his exploits among the myths 
of the past. It is hardly probable, however, that 
this is the correct theory. The safer and more 
reasonable conclusion would seem to be that Robin 
Hood really reigned in the forests as represented, 
but that many of the stories about him have been 
exaggerated by the ballad singers and early writers 
of England. I have taken what I thought to be 
the simplest and most authentic incidents of the 
outlaw's life, and have put them together for the 
benefit of my young friends. 


By Palmer Cox. 

One evening bright there was a sight 

That should recorded be. 
All gazed in wonder — well they might — 

Such funny things to see. 

A neighbor's yard is smooth and hard, 
And through the block extends, 

And there came lively rats and mice, 
With town and country friends. 

It may have been a wedding scene 

They celebrated there, 
A birthday part)-, or soiree, 

Enjoyed in open air. 

But this is plain, whatever train 
Had brought the rogues that way, 

From loft and lane and bins of grain, 
A jovial troop were they. 

The household cat, so sleek and fat, 

Is by the servants fed, 
And only leaves the rug or mat 

To find her cream and bread. 

So nought was there to harm or scare 

The lively groups below 
That danced and played in light and shade. 

Or rambled to and fro. 

No slaves were they to fashion's sway, 
With all its outs and ins : 

For some wore gauze or summei straws, 
While others dressed in skins. 

Beside the gate, upon a crate 

That once held earthen ware, 
An old musician, throned in state, 

Gave many a pleasing air. 

He scraped and paw'd and chopped and saw'd, 

But never seemed to tire, 
Though oft his bow would run as though 

To set the strings on fire ; 

While at his side, in pomp and pride, 

A knowing mouse was stalled. 
And while the sets he sharply eyed. 
The mazy dance he called : 

' To partners bow the first, and now 

To those on either side, 
Across and back, the lady swing, 
Now balance all ! " he cried. 

'T was charming fun to see them run. 

And curtsey, bow, and wheel, 
Or slip and slide and trip and glide 

Through some plantation reel. 

The smallest mouse about the house. 

And most destructive rat, 
Danced half an hour with grace and power — 

An Irish jig at that ; 






66 I 

Upon a pan the dance began, 
And round the yard they passed, 

But dancing still for life, until 
The rat gave out at last. 

The Highland fling and pigeon-wing. 

The polka and quadrille ; 
The waltz and schottish — everything — 

Was found upon the bill 

The latest dance that came from France, 

From Germany or Spain, 
The most delightful hop or prance, 

Their programme did contain. 

And people who could gain a view 

Of either jig or reel 
Would hardly grudge the lively crew 

A little corn or meal. 

The moon was high and morning nigh 

Before they quit their play, 
To shake their paws and say " Good-bye, 

And pass in pairs away. 

And when again they're in the vein 

To pass a night in fun, 
May we be nigh the window pane 

Until the sport is done ! 


By W. L, Alden. 

Every boy knows how hard it is to get permis- 
sion to go sailing. His mother is sure he will be 
drowned, and his father tells him to " be careful " in 
a way that clearly shows his wish that sail-boats had 
never been invented. And though the boy himself 
says, "There is no danger," he knows, if he is 
familiar with sailing, that there is nothing easier 
than to capsize a cat-boat by a moment's careless- 
ness or a little recklessness. 

Now, if a boy had a boat which could neither 
capsize nor sink, no reasonable mother would feel 

any uneasiness as to his being drowned. If at the 
same time this boat could outsail any ordinary sail- 
boat ; could carry twice as many people as a cat- 
boat of the same length ; could be taken out of the 
water and carried over a reef or a dam by two boys : 
and could be built by any intelligent boy who is 
handy with his tools, at a very slight expense, would 
it not be just the thing that every boy ought to 
have ? 

The boat in question is what is called a cata- 
maran — that is, a boat with two hulls. It is not 




so fast as the wonderful Herreschoff catamaran, 
but it is a great deal cheaper, drier, and more 
roomy, and is in every way better suited for 
cruising. Moreover, a boy can have the pleasure 
of building it himself, and there is no better fun 
than building a boat which, when it is launched, 
answers all your expectations. 

The first thing you need to do is to send to a 
lumber-yard or saw-mill for four good pine planks, 
fifteen feet long, eighteen inches wide, one inch 
thick, and planed on both sides. It maybe neces- 
sary to have them sawed to order at the mill, as 
they are unusually large. The rest of the lumber 
that you will want can be had at any carpenter's 
shop, and a good deal of it you maybe able to find 
at home in the shape of old boxes and strips of 

Put two of the four planks aside, and busy your- 
self at first only with the other two. Planks of 
this size, if put in the water, would be sure 
to warp. To prevent this, screw across one 
side of each plank four strips of wood, about 
three inches wide by three-quarters of an 
inch thick. These should be placed reg- 
ularly, so as to divide each plank into 
four divisions of exactly the same '.^ „^" ■_■ *'/■*. 

size. Be sure that on one of the ~^S^~ 
two planks these strips are seven- 
teen inches long instead of eighteen, 
thus leaving a clear space an inch 
wide along one edge of the plank. 

The next thing is to shape the ends 
of the planks. Begin three feet from 
the end, and cut away the wood, first 
with a saw and then with a drawing- 
knife, until you have a nice curve 
extending from the point where you 
began to cut to the end of the plank. 
When you are satisfied with this curve 

— which is to be the bow of your boat 

— lay the plank down on the other uncut plank 
and mark out on it precisely the same curve. After 
this is cut, then take the other ends of the two 
planks, shape them in the same way, taking great 
care that each one of the four curves shall be 
precisely like every other one. The way they will 
look after this part of the work is done is shown in 
Fig. No. i. 

Now lay one plank flat on the floor, with the side 
on which the strips are fastened uppermost. Take 
the other plank — the one with the seventeen-inch 
strips — and stand it up on its edge close against 
the one on the floor, having first white-leaded both 
the edges that are to touch. (See Fig. 2.) 

You will now sec why the strips on one plank 
were shorter than the other strips, for this has 
enabled you to bring the edges of the planks close 

together. Nail these edges together with galvan- 
ized iron nails, using a good many of them, and 
taking great care not to split the wood. 

The next thing is to cut four pieces of three- 
quarter-inch plank into the shape diagrammed in 

Fig- 3- . 

The side A B is seventeen inches long, and the 
side A C eighteen inches. These sides must form 
a true right angle, and be made very smooth and 
straight. When the four pieces are finished, white- 
lead the edges and place them between the two 
planks, so that they will lie close to the strips 
which you secured to the planks to prevent them 
from warping. Fasten them with long galvanized 
screws, carefully countersinking the heads. Then 
run a strip of quarter-inch white cedar, two inches 
wide, from A to B, cutting mortises in the curved 
edge of the four triangular pieces of wood to secure 
it. (See Fig. No. 4.) 

You have now the frame-work of one of the hulls 
of your catamaran. While the chief object 
j-=»__ of the triangular pieces of wood is to 
V brace the two planks, they are also 

meant to 

divide the 

hull into 


compartments, and so you can not be too 

careful to make the joints water-tight. 

Now we need some iron-work, and must 

depend on the blacksmith to make 

2-£#> it for us. We want three iron 

~fis<^\ sockets (for since they will be 

used as sockets we might as 

well call them sockets) of 

the shape indicated in Fig. 

5, made out of iron, rather 

more than an eighth of an 

inch thick. 

From A to B is four inch- 
es, and from A to C the same. The iron should 
be an inch and a half wide, and the two holes, H 
and H, should be large enough for a quarter-inch 

When the blacksmith has made these, then have 
him make three other sockets out of half-inch rod- 
iron, hammering the ends flat and piercing them 
with holes countersunk for screws. (See Fig. 6.) 

This round-iron socket is four inches wide, and 
each arm ten inches long. The holes (H) are 
for quarter-inch bolts. Order a double set of each 
of these sockets, as you will need three of each 
kind for each hull. The flat sockets are to be 
placed on the upper side of your hull — the side 
which is eighteen inches wide, the other side being 
an inch narrower. One is to be placed exactly half- 
way between the two ends of the plank, and the 


66 3 

others exactly three feet each from either -end, 
and they should all be placed about three inches 
from the outer edge of the planks. These posi- 
tions are indicated in diagrams 7 and 8, given 

The other sockets arc to be placed in the other 
plank precisely on a line with the first three. Use 
screw-bolts, with nuts for fastening all the sockets, 
and put a thin leather washer under the part of 
the iron which the bolt passes through, and an 
oak washer under the nut on the other side. 
Screw them on as tightly as possible, and put 
plenty of white-lead on the under side. The iron and 
the bolts ought to be galvanized, but if you live in 
the country, you may not be able to have this done. 

Your hull is now nearly ready to be covered with 
canvas, but first you should give the inside a thick 
coat of paint, and bore an inch hole through the 
middle of the upper plank into each water-tight 
compartment. Plug the holes with corks, and 


should your hull spring a leak at any time it will 
always be possible for you to pump or empty out 
the water. The canvas should be well oiled and 
dried before it is used, and should be forty inches 
wide. Place the keel — or the part of the hull 
where the keel ought to be — in the middle of the 
canvas, and tack it with copper tacks to the lower 
edge of the plank, except on the two ends where 
the plank is curved. Then. bring the edges of 
the canvas around both sides of the hull to the 
upper plank, and tack them firmly. To fit the 
canvas to the curves at the bow and stern is a more 
difficult task, but it can be done with the exercise 
of care and judgment. Perhaps your mother could 
help you in this matter with her womanly ingenuity 
in handling cloth. Remember when you are put- 
ting on the canvas to strain it as tightly as possible. 

Along the lower edge of the side-plank you must 
fasten an oak or ash keel a quarter of an inch thick, 
putting it on with screws, and painting the canvas 
under it just before you put it on. By soaking it 
in hot water — or, what is better, steaming it — you 
can bend it to fit the bow and stern. Strips an 
eighth of an inch thick should be screwed to the 
outer edges of each of the triangular pieces of wood 
that form the water-tight compartments, thus mak- 
ing the canvas fit more closely to them than it 
would were it fastened only with tacks. After all 
is done, give the entire hull two heavy coats of 
paint, and you can feel reasonably confident that 
it will not leak. 

One hull is now finished, and the second, which 
is to be precisely like it in every respect, can be 
built in much less time than the first one, thanks 
to the experience you have gained. When they 
are all ready, place them with their flat sides toward 
one another and seven feet apart. Then take three 
pine joists, four inches square and nine feet long, 
and push them through the iron sockets, fastening 
them with iron pins, dropped (not driven) through 
the holes in the middle of the flat sockets. In the 
drawing of the socket (Fig. 5), the hole for the 
pin is marked P. These pins will prevent the joists 
from slipping in either direction. 

The catamaran is now ready for her deck. This 
is simply a platform, nine feet square, made of 
planks a quarter of an inch thick and six inches 
wide. It is to be made double, the upper layer of 
planks running fore and aft, the under layer run- 
ning at right angles to the upper. Fasten them 
firmly together with clinched copper nails, and 
finally nail a quarter-inch strip of oak all around 
the platform, so as to keep the water from the 
edges of the planks. Every seam on both sides 
must be carefully filled with white-lead. 

The deck is to be fastened to the joists or deck- 
beams with screw-bolts, and grooves must be cut 
in it to receive the upper part of the iron sockets, 
so that it will lie flat on the deck-beams. Four 
good-sized bolts will hold it firmly. An iron ring 
of the same thickness as the iron used for the flat 
sockets, and supported by three iron legs in the 
shape of a tripod, about eighteen or twenty inches 
long, two of which should be bolted (with screw- 
bolts) to the forward deck-beam, and the third to 
the deck itself, will support the mast, the foot of 
which will rest in a wooden step. A somewhat 
similar piece of iron work, with a row-lock in place 
of the ring, must be bolted to the aftermost deck- 
beam, to hold the oar with which the boat is to be 
steered, and also to enable you to scull her in case 
you are becalmed. 

Before rigging the boat, take an ordinary eight- 
foot "A" tent and pitch it on the deck, fastening 




the corners and the sides to little brass rings 
screwed into the deck — the kind that will lie down 
flat when not in use. Inside of the tent, and just 
where the four ends are fastened, nail narrow strips 
of wood, a quarter of an inch thick, to the deck. 
These will keep the water out when it rains. 

Now, take away your tent and rig your boat. 
The sail should be fifteen feet in the boom, nine 
feet in the gaff, fifteen feet in the luff, — or the edge 
nearest the mast, — and nineteen feet in the leech. 
You had better get a sail-maker to make the sail, 
which is the only part of the work which you can 
not do well yourself. Put a big ring-bolt in the 
forward deck-beam to make your cable fast to when 
you anchor, and also to hold your painter when 
you want to make the boat fast to the dock. Put 
a long oar on board to steer with, and you are now 
ready to set sail. 

It would be a good plan to put a little railing, if 
it were only an inch high, around the deck, so as 
to keep things from sliding overboard. All iron 
work that is not galvanized should be thoroughly 

painted, and whenever a screw is used it should be 
dipped in white-lead, and its head covered with the 
same material after it is driven home. 

You will find that it is impossible to capsize your 
catamaran. The mast and sail would be torn out 
by the wind long before it would blow hard enough 
to bury one hull and lift the other out of water. 
The boat will sail fast either before or on the wind, 
and, with the help of the steering oar, will tack 
easily. Of course, if you run on the rocks, you 
will knock a hole in the canvas, but such an injury 
can be easily repaired, and the deck will float even 
were both hulls full of water. 

There is no better boat to cruise in than such a 
catamaran. At night you anchor her, unship your 
mast, pitch your tent, and sleep safely and com- 
fortably. If you come to a dam, you can take the 
craft apart, and carry her around it piece-meal. 
If you once try to build a catamaran, and succeed, 
— as you certainly will, if you have patience, — you 
will have the safest and most comfortable sail-boat 
in the world. 



i83 3 .] 


BRAVE (ilRI.. 

66 5 


By George Enos Throop. 

If any of the readers of St. Nicholas, happen- 
ing to be in Albany, have gone down South Pearl 
street as far as Schuyler, they have doubtless no- 
ticed at the head of the latter what appears to be 
a hill with the slopingsides cut off and a fence built 
around it. 

Now, this is not a hill, as its looks would indi- 
cate, but merely the old level of the country, 
which, as the city grew and people commenced to 
dig away the land so that the streets might be 
even, was left untouched, as we see it now. 

If you open the gate in the fence and go up two 
flights of stairs, you will rind yourself facing a 
white brick house with gabled roof, pretty front 
porch, and large, pleasant windows, all telling of 
peaceful times and happy days they had witnessed 
before the Revolutionary War. Upon closer inspec- 
tion, however, it will be seen that the window-blinds 
are covered with iron and the extra thick door lias 
as many bars and bolts as a prison — signs that 
there have also been stirring scenes enacted around 
these walls. This was brave General Schuyler's 
house, and it is about one of these very scenes 
that I am going to tell you. 

In the year 1 78 1 , while Clinton and Washington 
were closely watching each other's movements in 
the neighborhood of New York, there was com- 
parative peace in the North, during which both 
sides took a breathing spell and gathered strength 
to plunge once more into the bloody strife. 

At that time, the war was chiefly carried on in 
the South, but the northern frontier was constantly 
troubled by parties of Tories and Indians, who 
would swoop down on some small settlement, 
plunder the houses, and make off with whatever 
they could lay their hands on. 

During this time, Schuyler, having resigned the 
command of the northern division, on account of 
some unjust charges against him in connection 
with the surrender of Fort Edward, was staying at 
this house, which then stood alone outside the 
stockade or wall of Albany. The British com- 
mander, therefore, seeing his opportunity, sent out 
John Walter Meyer, with a party of Tories and 
Indians, to capture General Schuyler. 

When they arrived at the outskirts of the city, 
they learned from a Dutch laborer, whom they had 
taken, that the General's house was guarded by 
six soldiers, three watching in the day-time and 
three at night. They then let the Dutchman go. 

after having made him swear an oath of secrecy. 
But this oath he did not keep very strictly, for the 
minute the band was out of sight he took to his short 
legs, and warned the General of their approach. 

On one of those scorching August days, when 
you feel as if you hardly had energy enough to 
move, and when the very trees droop their dusty 
leaves, too lazy to hold up their heads, Schuyler 
and his family were sftting in the large hall, when 
a servant entered, and told the General that there 
was a strange man at the back door who wished to 
see him. 

Schuyler, understanding the trap, gathered his 
family in one of the upper rooms, and giving 
orders that the doors and windows be barred, fired 
a pistol from one of the top-story windows to alarm 
the neighborhood. 

The guards, who had been lounging in the shade 
of a tree, started to their feet at the sound of the 
pistol ; but alas, too _late ! for they found them- 
selves surrounded by a crowd of dusky figures, 
who bound them hand and foot before they had 
time to resist. 

And now you can imagine the little group col- 
lected in that dark room up-stairs ; the sturdy Gen- 
eral, standing resolutely by the door, with his gun 
in his hand, and his black slaves gathered around 
him, each with some weapon ; and at the other end of 
the room, the women huddled together, some weep- 
ing, some praying. Suddenly, a crash is heard 
which chills the very blood, and brings vividly to 
each one's mind the tales of Indian massacres so 
common at that day. The band had broken in at 
one of the windows. 

At that moment, Mrs. Schuyler, springing to her 
feet, rushed toward the door ; for she remembered 
that the baby, only a few months old, having been 
forgotten in the hurry of flight, was asleep in its 
cradle on the first floor. But the General, catching 
her in his arms, told her that her life was of more 
value than the child's, and that, if any one must go. 
he would. While, however, this generous struggle 
was going on, their third daughter, gliding past 
them, was soon at the side of the cradle. 

All was as black as night in the hall, except for 
a small patch of light just at the foot of the stairs. 
This came from the dining-room, where the Indians 
could be seen pillaging the shelves, pulling down 
the china, and quarreling with one another over 
their ill-gotten booty. 




How to get past this spot was the question, but the 
girl did not hesitate. She reached the cradle un- 
observed, and was just darting back with her pre- 
cious burden when, by ill luck, one of the savages 
happened to see her. Whiz! went his sharp 
tomahawk within a few inches of the baby's head, 
and, cleaving an edge of the brave girl's dress, 
stuck deep into the stair-rail. 

Just then one of the Tories, seeing her flit by, 
and supposing her to be a servant, called after 

men: "Come on, my brave fellows! Surround 
the house ! Secure the villains who are plunder- 
ing ! " The cowards knew that voice, and they 
each and every one of them took to the woods as 
fast as their legs would carry them, leaving the 
General in possession of the field. 

There is very little more I can tell you of the 
brave girl, his daughter, except that later in life she 
was married to Stephen Van Rensselaer (Patroon), 
of Albany, and lived very happily in another inter- 


■i- :-■..-.,'■ JOSH®, Hi' 'If* 


her: "Wench, wench, where is your master?" 
She, stopping for a moment, called back, "Gone 
to alarm the town ! " and, hurrying on, was soon 
safe again with her father up-stairs. 

And now, very nearly all the plunder having 
been secured, the band was about to proceed to 
the real object of the expedition, when the General, 
raising one of the upper windows, called out in 
lusty tones, as if commanding a large body of 

estingold house on the extreme northern end of the 

The old Schuyler house looks now as it looked 
then, except that the back wing for the slaves has 
been torn down, and some few alterations have 
been made around the place; but when you are 
shown the house, you can still see the dent in the 
stair-rail made by that Indian's hatchet more than 
a hundred years ago. 

.88 3 .] 




By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter XXVII. 


A BUSY night began. A lantern was lighted, 
and lamps were carried to the mill. The two 
younger boys were sent to the village for a pickax 
and a spade and some galvanized nails, while the 
two older ones began at once to saw joists and 
sharpen stakes. 

Rush left them sawing and trimming, and argu- 
ing again the question of a temporary dam ; and 
taking the lantern, with a hammer and a hatchet, 
went out to the pile of fragments below the mill. 

He set the lantern on the ground, and was occu- 
pied in clearing the mud-sill of old nails and bits 
of broken spilings, when a sound of oars working 
in their row-locks told him that a boat was coming 
up the river. 

He heard voices, too ; and these words, though 
spoken in a low tone, were borne to him distinctly 
over the water: 

•'It will take 'em at least three days to rebuild 
it, even if they have a chance. But they wont have 
a chance." 

"No, sir! There's no dam to bother us to- 
night, and there never will be again ! " 

" Keep quiet ! There 's a light in the mill, and 
there 's one of 'em with a lantern ! " 

The voices ceased suddenly, and Rush, who all 
the while kept quietly at work, heard no more 
until the boat drew near the mill. Then some one 
on board called out derisively : 

" Where 's your dam ? " 

" It will make good fire-wood," said another, 
" what there is left of it. " 

"Stop your nonsense, boys!" said a third. 
'■ Don't hit fellows when they 're down." 

Thereupon Rush straightened himself up from 
his work, and stood beside his lantern, hatchet in 
hand, and gave the passing boat a haughty look, 
with these words : 

"If you think the Tinkham brothers are down, 
you '11 wake up some fine morning and find your T 
selves mistaken. Don't keep any of your insolence 
corked up on our account. We can stand it." 

He got no reply ; but heard low voices again, 
after the boat had passed a few rods up the river. 

" That 's the bloodthirsty one that was going to 
knock Milt on the head with a bean-pole, and hove 
the big rock at his boat this afternoon." 

* Copyright, 188=, by J. T. T 

" Yes! and he looked just now as if he'd a 
little rather fling his hatchet at us than not ! " 

Rush went on prying off the broken ends of the 
spilings. He fancied the boat passing the bridge, 
and wished for a moment that he was there with 
another " big rock," to drop down gently and softly 
on the Argonautic heads. 

Then suddenly a startling thought flashed upon 
him. He rose, gazed excitedly up the river, then, 
stooping again, drew out and hammered down the 
last of the nails. 

This done, he stepped into Mr. Rumney's boat, 
which had been hauled up beside the mill, placed 
the lantern low in the stern with some broken 
boards to hide it, pulled into the current, and fol- 
lowed the other boat at a cautious distance. 

His absence was soon noticed by Mart and Lute ; 
and as he did not return for nearly half an hour, 
they grew more 'and more surprised at his going off 
in that mysterious way, when time was precious. 

At length he returned and walked into the mill, 
where he found them still preparing material for 
rebuilding and discussing plans. When they asked 
where he had been, he replied with a counter 
question : 

"Have you decided about the temporary dam 

'• I rather think Mart agrees to it," answered 
Lute, "though he has n't said as much yet. 
know he hates the n-n-notion." 

" If we 're going to lay the mud-sill in the night, 
I suppose we must manage somehow to keep the 
water back," Mart admitted. "But I'm afraid 
Lute's plan wont work well, and I hate to strip the 
siding off the sheds." 

'• Well ! " cried Rush, with a joyous countenance, 
"you need n't! We'll get along without Lute's 
temporary dam. And we '11 plant the mud-sill 
without having much water to work in, either ! 
The Argonauts are going to help us ! " 

"This is a poor time for a j-j-joke," said Lute, 

" It's no joke at all," Rush replied, with eager 
confidence. " I Ye looked the thing all over, and 
I know what I 'm talking about." 

Mart laid down a piece of joist he was shaping 
into a stake, and regarded his brother with solemn 
scrutiny, saying, after a pause : 

" The boy is certainly crazy ! " 

" Hear my plan first," cried Rush ; " then, if you 
don't say we can get the mud-sill in without trouble 

rowbridge. All rights reserved. 




or danger from the water, and have the dam all 
built before high-tide to-morrow morning, I '11 give 
you leave to put me into a straight-jacket." 

" Some folks say the age of m-m-miracles is n't 
over," was Lute's cool comment: " and now Rocket 
is going to p-p-prove it." 

"Go ahead," said Mart, "before I make any- 
more stakes. We 've got enough for the permanent 
dam already." 

" You wont need any more, I promise you." 

The brothers listened, at first incredulously, then 
with a respect which quickly grew to admiration, 
as Rush proceeded to convince them that he was 
not crazy, and that the plan he proposed was in no 
sense a miracle. 

" Well, I declare, Rocket ! " exclaimed Lute, 
" you 're a chip of the T-T-Tinkham block ! How 
did you ever happen to think of it ? " 

" Why, just as either of you would, if you had 
been in my place," Rush replied, not at all anxious 
to gain extraordinary credit for a scheme which his 
older and more ingenious brothers had failed to hit 
upon. " I was trying to think of some trick I could 
play off on the Argonauts, when it popped into my 

" It never would have p-p-popped into a foolish 
head ! " exclaimed Lute. 

" Nor into a very crazy one, for that matter," 
Mart added. " 1 owe you a humble apology, 

" Pshaw ! " laughed Rush. " It 's all right, since 
you see it as I do." 

The three were earnestly talking over details of 
the plan, when the younger brothers returned, 
bringing the pickax and spade and the rust-proof 

"They knew at the store what we wanted of 
'em," said Rupert. " One of the men asked if we 
were going to build up the dam again to-morrow, 
and I told him I did n't know." 

" That 's right, for you don't know," said Mart. 
" Nobody can tell what may happen then, or 
between now and then. Now, you youngsters go 
to bed." 

" Oh, no !" Rupe exclaimed, in astonishment. 

" We are going to stay up and help," said Rod- 
man. " Why can't we ? " 

" There '11 be nothing you can help about for 
three or four hours," Mart explained. " All we can 
do before ebb-tide is to get ready. If you stay up, 
you '11 be all tired out by that time, and good for 
nothing. But go to bed now, and I '11 have you 
called at twelve or one o'clock. It will be moon- 
light then ; you '11 be fresh after your nap, and I 
promise you some fun." 

" Will you surely call us ? " asked Rupert. 

" Surely, unless the bottom drops out of our 

scheme, which does n't look likely now. Have your 
old rubber boots ready to put on, — for you may 
have to stand in mud and water, — and your worst 
old clothes. We are going to put ours on." 

" Well, don't forget to call us. Come, Rod ! " 

The two youngest returned reluctantly to the 
house, and went to bed. Excitement kept them 
awake for a time, and they seemed hardly to have 
fallen asleep when they felt somebody shaking 
them, and heard a voice exclaim : 

"Wake up! wake up, boys ! You're wanted 
at the dam ! " 

Opening their sleepy eyes, they saw in the moon- 
lit room a dim figure bending over them. It was 
Letty, who had sat up with her mother, waiting 
for a signal from the mill to call the sleepers. 

"We 've only just come to bed," yawned the 
confused Rodman. 

" You 've been in bed four hours," cried Letty. 
" Now make haste, or the dam will be built before 
you get there." 

They were well aroused by this time ; and quick- 
ly putting on their old clothes and rubber boots, 
they ran out to the bank of the river, where they 
looked down on what appeared a scene of enchant- 

It was a night of wonderful stillness and beauty. 
The moon was high in the cloudless eastern heav- 
ens, flooding the valley with its mild radiance, 
by which they could see, beyond the black shadow 
of the mill and in strange contrast with it, a sheet 
of water, flashing with curves and streaks of silver 
fire, not much more than ankle deep to three figures 
that now appeared in the moonlight, crossing the 
plashy and glimmering river-bed. 

Rupe and Rod ran down the bank, marveling 
more and more. There was no temporary dam to 
be seen ; and yet that pool, or rather a series of 
such, connected by little runnels, shining here and 
there amidst the black and oozy bottom, was all 
that was left of the Tammoset River. The appear- 
ance of fiery snakes was caused by the sparkling 
wakes and ripples of hundreds of alewives, with 
perhaps a few eels and other fish, darting and 
writhing about, in the endeavor to escape into 
deeper channels. 

" Where 'sail the water? " cried Rupert, splash- 
ing in where the older boys were at work. 

" Be quiet! " said Rush, in a low voice. " The 
Argonauts are keeping it back for us." 

Chapter XXVIII, 


The older boys had evidently been busy while 
the younger ones were asleep. They had, in fact, 

i88 3 .| 



not only got everything in readiness for rebuilding 
the dam at low water, but, after putting out the 
lights in the mill, they had embarked on what 
Rush called- an Argonautic expedition. 

There was no regular meeting of the club that 
night; but it was to have been expected that a 
good many members would get together, to enjoy 
the triumph they had that day achieved in the de- 
struction of the dam. The upper windows of the 
boat-house were lighted and open, and loud talk 
and laughter resounded within, when the Tinkham 
brothers rowed noiselessly by in the Rumney boat, 
making careful observations, and waiting for the 
Argonauts to disperse. 

The tide had turned before they left the mill. 
It would soon be going out rapidly. The time had 
come for them to begin their secret night's work. 
Yet nothing could be done until the last of the 
Argonauts' boats had gone down the river. 

The boys grew exceedingly anxious and im- 
patient, as they floated about under the shadow of 
the high shore, and counted the wasting moments. 

"They never staid scTTate before," said Rush. 

"They must crow and crow again over the old 
dam," replied Mart. "Don't begrudge 'em that 
short-lived satisfaction." 

" There goes a b-b-boat," said Lute. 

In fact, one, two, three boats put out from the 
shadow of the club-house, crossed the moonlit arm 
of the lake, and disappeared at the outlet. 

"There were only three moored at the float," 
said Rush. " The way will soon be clear now." 

At the same time the Argonauts could be heard 
leaving the house on the shoreward side, and talk- 
ing and laughing as they went up the lane to the 
road. Still, lights were seen and voices heard 

" See here, boys," said Mart, " we 're losing too 
much time. It wont do ! " 

" We must r-r-risk something or miss our 
chance," said Lute. "Don't the fools know it 's 
time all honest folks were abed?" 

A bold stroke was finally resolved upon, and the 
boys paddled silently up to the side of the club- 
house, where the platform lumber of which Mr. 
Rumney had told Rush lay half in moonlight on 
the bank. 

While the lamps still shone and voices were 
heard from the open windows overhead, one by 
one, eight boards, each twelve feet long and a foot 
in width, were slid down into the water, placed one 
upon another, and lashed together. Then three 
stout poles were selected from a pile designed for 
posts to be driven down into the mud for the plat- 
form to rest on, and launched in like manner with- 
out noise. This done, the boat was pushed silently 
off, boards and. poles following darkly in tow. 

A shout of laughter from the windows rang out 
over the water as the Tinkham brothers, now in 
their turn, emerged from the shadow of the boat- 
house and rowed across the moonlit arm of the 

Reaching the outlet, they pulled with strong 
strokes, in the full, slow current, down to the 
bridge. Under that they paused, and drew the 
boards and poles alongside. 

" So far, so g-g-good ! " chuckled Lute. 

The abutments had been already examined, and 
the bed of the channel explored and cleared of 
loose stones. A pole was now drawn forward and 
set in an upright position, slightly leaning, against 
the upper side of the bridge. Rush and Lute held 
the boat against the stream, while Mart thrust the 
pointed end down into the gravelly bottom. 

A second pole was then placed still more slant- 
ingly, a few feet nearer one of the solid granite 
abutments. To these two uprights the boat was 
made fast, broadside to the stream, and all hands 
were free to work. 

A board was now forced down edgewise, extend- 
ing from the first post to the abutment, to be sup- 
ported by them against the pressure of the current. 
The second post was just outside of the board ; it 
served as a guide in placing it, and held it fast 
when it was down. A heavy sledge-hammer was 
used in the water, with a sort of churning stroke, 
in driving the lower edge of the board into the bed 
of the river. 

A second board was placed in like manner as 
the first, a third on that, and finally a fourth put 
into position ; the upper edge of the last rising four 
or five inches above the surface of the water. 

The entire span of the bridge measured not 
more than twenty feet, so that now the boys had 
only to extend a similar set of boards from the first 
post to the other abutment, in order to have a 
complete gate across the channel. 

They had worked cautiously at first, listening 
often for footsteps approaching the bridge. As 
none came, and it was getting late, they grew bold 
in their movements, and worked rapidly, until, as 
Mart was setting his third post in place, somebody 
looked over the edge of the bridge, and called out. 
"Halloo !" 

All was still in a moment, except the gurgle of 
the water against the side of the boat ; the boys, 
hidden by the shadow beneath the bridge, keeping 
quiet until another head peeped over, and another 
voice said : 

"What are you doing down there?" 

Then Mart answered back, in as gruff and care- 
less a tone as he could assume : 

" Did n't you ever see anybody spear eels ? " 

" It 's a queer place to be spearing eels, and a 




queer way to do it," said one of the voices above. 
" Look at that big pole ! " 

"There's two more!" said the other voice. 
" They 're setting some sort of trap to catch ale- 
wives. Come along ! it 's awful late ! " 

The voices went off with the sound of hurrying 
footsteps, and died away in the distance. The 
brothers breathed again. 

"They are Dempford Argonauts footing it 
home," said Rush. 

" Good fellows ! " said Mart, resuming his work. 
" They help us best by lending their lumber and 
getting out of our way. Now, give us a board." 

The current was growing stronger and stronger 
all the while, and by the time the third board of 

I wont warrant either of those posts to stand long, 
after the water begins to tear its way under." 

Chapter XXIX. 


Thkv hastened to the mill, and floated the mud- 
sill in place while there was yet water enough in 
the fast-draining channel. It was a foot deep 
when they began ; it was not much more than 
ankle-deep by the time they had got ready to make 
the trench for it. 

On the arrival of the younger boys, Mart and 
Lute and Rupert began at once, with pick and 



the second set was in place, the water poured over 
it in a cascade. A fourth shut it off; and then the 
sledge-hammer was used again to drive each set 
of boards firmly together and settle them still 
deeper into the level river bed. The water under 
the bridge fell away rapidly, the boat dropping 
with it, and the brothers had the satisfaction of 
seeing their extemporized gate emerge before them 
like a dark wall. 

As the pressure of water held the boards in 
place, the two outside posts were now set inside, in a 
row with the first, as assistant supports ; and Mart, 
getting upon the bridge, drove one after another 
with all his might into the bed of the channel. 

" Now, boys ! " he said, jumping down from the 
abutment, "we must make the most of our time ! 

spade and hoe, to dig out the gravel beside the 
old spilings; while Rush, with Rodman's assistance, 
carried out a plan suggested by Lute for getting 
rid of more of the water. 

It was a modification of Lute's first idea of a 
temporary dam. The mill-sluice was opened, and 
the water that came down from above drained into 
it by means of a diagonal line of boards set up 
edgewise and supported by short stakes. A 
hachet and a hoe, in lively hands, made a quick 
job of it ; and some of the same boards served 
which were afterward to be used in the dam. 

" We sha'n'tcare much for the water, you know, 
after the mud-sill is laid," said Rush ; " then those 
boards can come up." 

Meanwhile, the simple device was found exceed- 



ingly useful. For though the water came down for 
a time in a constantly dwindling stream, it began 
at length to increase in volume, showing a con- 
siderable escape at the bridge. The drain turned it 
easily into the sluice, however; so that in throwing 
out the loosened gravel the spade and hoes kept 
the trench also tolerably free from water. 

The moon shone brightly. It was not very hard 
digging, and in an unexpectedly short time the 
new bed was made ready for the mud-sill. This 
was then pried into it, one side being set close 
against the spilings, and secured in its position 
by stakes driven close against the other side. 
Each stake was then firmly nailed to the sill. 

" This is j-j-jolly," said Lute. " Now if we 
can only get the spilings nailed before there 's a 
d-d-deluge ! " 

To do that the boys had first to dig out some 
of the gravel on the upper side of the spilings. 
These they found in quite as good condition as 
they had expected, and the sill being laid below 
the line of broken tops, only two or three had 
to be patched. 

Never did young fellows work with greater 
energy and speed. As they were now engaged 

There had been originally two tiers of foot-wide 
planks above the sill. But now the sill had been 
sunk, and in order to make the dam as high as be- 
fore, three tiers would be necessary. For the first, 
the boys used some narrower stuff they had, run- 
ning it clear across the flash-board opening. The 
best of the old planks served for the second. 
Finally, for the upper tier, the boards were taken 

on the shady side of the 

spilings, Rod 

handed nails for the older ones to drive. 

A strange sight they must have been in their 
rubber boots, splashed clothes, and brigandish 
hats, there in the glimmering river-bed, by 
moonlight and lantern light, if only Uempford 
and Tammoset had been awake to see ! But 
all around them the two towns lay fast asleep, 
while the secret night work went on. 

The rapid hammering made merry music to 
the boys' ears ; for they now felt that the most 
difficult part of their task would soon be over. 
Rush kept the water scooped out of the new 
trench in advance of the nailers, and filled in 
the gravel after them. The sill, which had 
originally rested on the river bottom, was now 
sunk to a level with its surface, only the notched 
ends of the line of spilings being left sticking 
out, " like the back fin of a b-b-buried sea-serpent," 
Lute said. 

More than once in the meantime Rush had to 
spring to his line of boards, which an ever-increas- 
ing flow of water threatened to wash away. He, 
however, managed to keep them in place until the 
sill and spilings were safe, and the mud and gravel 
packed against them. 

Then the boards were to be nailed to the stakes. 
And though that part of the work might have been 
done in the water, it could be done much faster 
out of it ; and no time was lost in running on the 
first tier. 


I. End of the mud-sill, eight 
inches square. 2. Edge of row of 
spilings, or boards, driven down 
several feet into the river-bed be- 
side the mud-sill, and nailed to it. 
3. Stake driven down on the other 
side of the mud-sill, and also nailed 
to it. 4.5. Ends of planks nailed 
to stakes, forming the breast of 
the dam. A is the bed of the 
river. The arrows show the flow 
of the stream. 


The mud-sill is here shown sunk 
below the level of the bed of the 
river, with the top of the spilings 
left sticking up. An eight-inch 
board at the bottom, a foot board 
at the top, and the old plank be- 
tween, now form the breast of the 
dam, of the original height. 

from the diagonal drain. And it was time. A 
rush of water was sweeping them away. 

" There must be a big wash-out under the Ar- 
gonauts' gate ! " Rush said. " Do you suppose 
there's any chance of the abutments being under- 
mined, or that the bridge will be in danger ? " 

"Let 'em be undermined!" exclaimed Lute, 
"and let the b-b-bridge be in danger! What 's 
that to us? " 

" Good enough for Tammoset and Dempford, 
for tearing our dam away ! " said Rupe. 

" Besides," said Mart, with a nail in one corner 
of his mouth, "after the bridge is gone, the little 




Commodore's yacht can pass with the mast up. 
That 's to be considered." 

No serious fears for the bridge were entertained, 
however ; and it was hoped that the gate would 
hold until the flood-tide came to carry the borrowed 
lumber back up into the lake. 

As soon as the spihngs were nailed, the two 
younger boys had got a basket and a garden rake, 
and gone to catching fish. The rake served to 
snatch them out of the shallows in which they were 
still flopping, and the basket was before long filled 
with fine alewives, measuring nearly a foot in 
length. As they were taken on their way up into 
the lake to spawn, they were in excellent condition. 
Eels, too, might have been secured, if the boys had 
known how to hold the slippery creatures or to 
keep them in the basket after they were caught. 

One thing of interest they fished out of a pud- 
dle ; it was neither an eel nor an alewife, but a 
small sledge-hammer which had been missing from 
the back shop ever since the night when the blades 
of the mill-wheel were broken. This discovery 
confirmed their belief that it had been stolen for 
the occasion, and afterward flung into the river. 

Birds were now singing, and the brothers had 
the growing daylight to finish their work by. The 
platform and fish-way were repaired. The dam had 
no " apron," as Lute declared it ought to have, 
and should have some day, to prevent the water 
that poured over from washing out the river-bed 
below, Dushee's way having been to fill with stones 
and gravel any holes thus formed. 

It was sunrise by the time the last plank was 
sawed, and the end of the dam against the Demp- 
ford shore stanched with stakes and earth. Then 
the tide came up, meeting the water that came 
down, and forcing it back. The boys put away 
their tools and stood on the platform, splashed and 
muddied, but picturesque and triumphant, regard- 
ing their completed work. 

" Now let 'em come on with their writs to pro- 
hibit us from doing what is already done ! " ex- 
claimed Rush. 

" Writ or no writ," replied Mart, wiping his 
bespattered face, "it 's something to say the dam 
was back again by daylight the morning after the 
two towns had their big jubilee tearing it away." 

" Besides," said Lute, " it will let 'em know the 
T-T-Tinkham brothers are no t-t-triflers. Now 
hurry in, boys, with your fish, and tell Mother we 
and the dam are right-side up with c-c-care." 

The widow had been up nearly all night, keep- 
ing her chair or her lounge, and sleeping little, 
while anxiously awaiting the result of her sons' 
extraordinary undertaking. Great, therefore, was 
her joy when the younger ones came in, announc- 
ing its success, and lugging their basket of fish. 

(To lie 

Letty had gone to bed, but she, too, was now 
awake, and had to get up and rejoice with her 
mother over the good news. Then the three older 
boys appeared, begrimed and streaked from head 
to foot, from old slouched hats to rubber boots ; 
haggard but hilarious, hardly knowing they were 
tired, but knowing very well they were hungry, 
and eager for congratulations and gingerbread. 

The pride and happiness of the little household 
did not, it is to be presumed, prove extensively epi- 
demic in the two towns when it was discovered, and 
told swiftly from mouth to mouth, that the dam, after 
being destroyed with such pomp and circumstance, 
had been replaced as if by magic in a single night. 

What the Argonauts thought of it after their 
late jubilation does not appear. Some glimmer 
of light is perhaps thrown upon the subject by an 
article from the local newspaper, which I find 
pasted in Mart's interesting scrap-book. 

Much the larger part of it was evidently written 
and set up in the silent hours of that same moonlit 
night when the Tinkham brothers were busy with 
their magic. A glowing description is given of the 
magnificent uprising of the sister-towns, and the 
inspiring spectacle of their united people gathering 
in majesty and might, and putting an end to a 
grievance which had been too long endured. 

Only brief allusion is made to the appearance of 
the crippled mother on the bank — "a somewhat 
painful incident, which marred the otherwise perfect 
satisfaction which must have filled every patriotic 
heart on this glorious occasion." 

Then follows this postscript : 

" Since the above was put in type, we have learned with very 
great surprise that the dam has been rebuilt ! Unable to credit so 
astonishing a rumor, we dispatched our reporter to the spot early 
the next forenoon, not doubting that those who started it were de- 
ceived by some illusion. He found it only too true ! The dam had 
been entirely reconstructed within twelve hours of the time when at 
least two hundred people looked on and saw it, as was supposed, 
finally and forever destroyed ! 

" How the feat was accomplished is a complete mystery. There 
is evidence that the water was stopped at the bridge. Persons were 
heard at work under it late that night — 'spearing eels,' they said. 
Some lumber belonging to the Argonauts was found adrift in the 
lake the next morning, bearing such marks of rough usage that 
there is no doubt it had played an important part in this strange 
drama. It is believed that it was placed across the channel, between 
the abutments, by means of posts, one of which still remained in 
position against the upper railing of the bridge at ten o'clock the 
next morning. The rest of the temporary gate, if there was one, 
had been carried up into the lake at flood-tide. The posts — the 
ends of which were found battered, like the edges of some of the 
boards — had also been borrowed of the Argonauts. To make the 
members of our honored boat-club contribute in this way to the 
rebuilding of the dam was a piece of impudence which may be 
termed simply colossal. 

"Our reporter states that many Tammoset and Dempford people 
visited the locality in the morning, to assure themselves, by the testi- 
mony of their own eyes, that the dam was indeed there. Comments 
were various. If the young mill-owners worked all night in re- 
placing it, it would seem as if they must have required rest the 
day after; butat ebb-tide the mill was going, and they were busy at 
work as if nothing unusual had happened. The general impression 
seems to be that, whatever else may be said of them, they are smart." 





By Emma C. Down. 

Archibald Stone is Archie's name. 
And Daisy Stone, that 's Daisy ; 

Mamma's and Papa's are just the same, 
And mine — why, I am Maisy. 

Daisy and I are twins, you know, 
Exactly eight years old ; 

We are just alike from top to toe, 
And our hair is just like gold. 

And Archie he is almost ten, 

And figures on a slate, 
But does not add up rightly when 

He says we are not eight. 

For I have learned a little song — 
Its name is "Two Times Two"; 

That 's why I know that Archie 's wrong. 
For 'course the song is true. 

Papa says not to worry more, 
Nor vex my little pate ; 

But Daisy 's four and I am four, 
And that makes us just eight. 





Bv Jane Eggleston Zimmerman. 

"There!" said little Margaret Darnley in 
despair, as she stood, broom in hand, at the north 
door. The dust, and bits of paper, and string, 
and clippings of cloth which she had been collect- 
ing from all over the room with her broom, kept 
drifting back persistently when she tried to sweep 
them out at the door. And worse than all were 
the feathers from the pillow of Myra's doll, which 
were scattered in every direction. Myra did sew 
dreadfully, and a pillow was the last thing she ever 
ought to have made. And everybody knows what 
hard things to sweep up feathers are. Margaret 
leaned against the wall, tired out. 

" Why don't you try the other door, Maggie ? " 
asked her brother Jack, who sat by the window. 

"That is just the queer part of it," said Mar- 
garet. " I tried the other door first, and it is just 
as bad there. The wind can't blow in exactly oppo- 
site directions at once, can it ? " 

" May be it shifted while you were sweeping the 
dirt across the room," said Jack. 

"Well, that ivonld be funny," said Margaret; 
"but I '11 try it again. It will be a sort of nix- 
periment, I guess." 

" A sort of what?" asked Jack. 

" A nixperiment," said Margaret. " I listened 
to your flosophy-teacher the other day, and Mr. 
Baird said that everything in science had to be — 
something by nixperiments." 

" Verified by experiments," said Jack, laughing. 
" Yes, that 's so, and now we '11 see if there 's any 
philosophy about this dirt." 

So Margaret swept the dirt carefully across the 
room again, while Jack looked on. 

" There ! " exclaimed Margaret, " look at that ! " 

Jack did look, and had to confess that it was too 
much for his philosophy. " Stop," said he, " I '11 
see which way the wind is really blowing." Mar- 
garet shut the door and sat down to wait. The 
poor little arms were quite tired by this time, for 
Margaret was only ten years old, and was but just 
learning to sweep. 

"It's the stillest day we 've had this season," 
cried Jack, bursting in. "The weather-cock turns 
tail to the south, so whatever wind there is comes 
from the north. Let 's try the south door again." 

To the surprise of both Jack and Margaret, the 
dirt, which had been so perverse and contrary, went 
out this time without making much trouble. 

"That 's it — the wind shifted, don't you see, 

Maggie ?" said Jack, with a wise look. "That's 
the way with science. Science believes nothing till 
it has thoroughly proved it. That 's what experi- 
ments are for, and that 's the beauty of science." 

" Open the draft, Jack, and put in some more 
wood. What makes this room so cold ? " called 
their father from a small adjoining room, which he 
used as a study. " What 's that you were saying 
about science ? " he added, with a quizzical look on 
his face. 

Jack, with a very grave and scientific look, ex- 
plained their experiment in natural philosophy. 

"Ah ! " said his father, " the wind shifted, did 
it ? How many times ? " 

"Why, four times, Father," said Margaret. 
"Just as quick as lightning — almost," she added, 
seeing her father raise his eyebrows. " I swept the 
dust from one door to the other just as quick as I 
could, but by the time I got there, the wind got 
there too, and blew the dirt back every time." 

"Suppose we try the experiment again," said 
Mr. Darnley. 

" Oh, I 've swept all the dirt out now," said 
Margaret, "for after we had tried and tried, it 
finally went out quietly." 

" Well, here are a few feathers which gave you 
the slip, little Pearlie," said her father. " We can 
try the experiment with them. Put in some more 
wood and make the room pretty hot." 

"What for, Father?" asked Jack, who was not 
very fond of carrying wood. 

"It is necessary to our experiment," said his 

Jack put in the wood. This was mysterious and 

" Now, Maggie," said her father, when the room 
was uncomfortably warm, " get your broom and 
sweep out these feathers." 

"Which door, Father?" asked Margaret. 

"It makes no difference," said her father; 
"either door will do." 

" Better let me look at the weather-vane again," 
said Jack. 

" It is not necessary," said his father, smiling. 

Margaret tried again, but the feathers all blew 
back, some entirely across the room. 

"There they are, Maggie, close to the south 
door," said Mr. Darnley. " 1 '11 shut this door, and 
you may sweep them out at that one." 

But Margaret had no better success than before. 



" Is n't it curious ! " said Jack. " There must be 
witches standing in the door, blowing the feathers 

"That is what ignorant and superstitious people 
would have said years ago, Jack," said his father, 
" but science shall teach us better than that." 

" Now," continued Mr. Darnley, "let us make 
two piles of the feathers — one near the south and 
the other near the north door. Jack, get another 
broom for this pile. Now, both sweep in opposite 
directions at the same time. That will show us 
whether it is caused by the shifting of the wind." 

Jack and Maggie tried faithfully, but the feathers 
went every way but out of the doors, some of 
them even rising toward the ceiling. 

"It's the cold day," said Jack; " they don't like 
to go out." 

"Father, what is the reason, please?" asked 
Margaret, earnestly. 

" Hot air always rises," replied Mr. Darnley. 

"Why?" asked Margaret. 

"Because," answered her father, "hot air is 
lighter than cold. When it rises, of course cold 
air rushes in to fill its place. When you open the 
door, currents of cold air rush in at the bottom, 
while the hot air is escaping at the top. Open the 

door, Jack, and try to drive out a feather above 
your head, while Maggie tries one at the floor." 

The children did so, and found that, while the 
feather at the bottom blew in, the one at the top 
floated out. 

" But, Father," said Maggie, "we did sweep the 
dirt out at last. Why was that? " 

" Because you had let the room grow cold while 
you were trying your experiments," said her father, 
"and as the temperature became more like that 
outside, the currents were less strong. That is the 
way your ' wind shifted.' " 

Jack looked foolish. 

" Science is a fine thing, my son," continued 
his father, " and great beauty and interest, as well 
as importance, attach to its discoveries. But the 
life and soul of science lie in its exactness and 
thoroughness. A scientific experiment, to be worth 
anything, must be thorough. You tried an experi- 
ment half-way, and then jumped to a conclusion." 

"Mother," said Margaret, "how do you sweep 
the dirt out ? " 

"I take it up on the dust-pan, Maggie dear," 
said her mother, smiling. 

Jack and Maggie had both learned something 
that morning. 

By Charles Barnard. 

Here is a picture of a toy pistol. You see it has 
a lock, a trigger, and a barrel, just like a real pistol. 
There is even a " sight " — a bead at the end of the 
barrel to help you take aim. This is very funny, 
because if you were to aim at anything with this 
pistol, you would be sure not to hit it. When it is 

fired it will make a noise, but it will not shoot any- 
thing. For all this, it is truly a wonderful pistol. 
It might kill a horse — if he could fire it. It is sure 
to hit the boy who pulls the trigger. It is a sort 

of boomerang, and fires backward. The fact is, 
this pistol is a sham and a cheat. It is made of 
cast-iron, and can fire neither powder nor shot. 

If you wish to use this toy pistol, you must 
get some caps. These are little dots or wafers of 
paper, white on one side and red on the other. In 
the picture you see that there is a wheel, having 
large teeth on its edge, in front of the lock. Place 
one of the paper caps on the wheel, between the 
teeth. On drawing the trigger back, the wheel 
turns over and the hammer moves back. Pull the 
trigger, and the hammer falls on the cap, and it ex- 
plodes with a flash of fire and a little report. To 
fire it again you must put in a new cap. 

Girls who have brothers who like to playfully 
aim pistols at them will be charmed with this 
pistol. The persons at whom it is aimed never 
get hit. Many a boy who has fired it wishes 
he had never touched it. As I have said, it is 
a sort of boomerang, and like that remarkable 
weapon, is sure to fire backward. 




As I tried it once, I can tell you about it. First, 
I twisted one of the caps around a match, and set 
the match on fire. When the flame reached the 
paper cap there was a little explosion. Suddenly 
I felt a stinging sensation in my hand, and, on 
looking at it, I found several tiny black splinters 
sticking in the skin. I pulled them out, but I felt 
the pain for some time afterward. Then I placed 
a cap on the hearth and struck it with a hammer. 
This time I was well scared, and kept my hands as 
far away as I could. When it went off I felt the 
same stinging sensation in my left hand, which 
was more than two feet away. I had been struck 
again by a flying splinter. This thing was getting 
decidedly dangerous, and when I took up the 
pistol to try it, I carefully wrapped my right hand 
in my handkerchief. It went off beautifully, but 
— ah! There was the mischief! The handker- 
chief was dotted here and there with the black 
splinters from the exploded cap. I did n't fire 
that pistol any more. Neither did I sell it nor 
give it away. I sent it to an artist, that a picture 
might be made for you all to see. 

Now let us examine carefully the weapon on 
the preceding page. 

You notice that the 
place where the cap is 
put is entirely open. 
When the hammer falls the cap ex- 
plodes, and the burning paper and the 
hot powder fly out in every direction - 
except one. This pistol does not shoot 
ahead or through the barrel. The thing you aim 
at can laugh in your face, for the little projection 
on the wheel keeps the shower of sparks back and 
throws them upon your hand. The pistol " kicks" 
its whole charge right into the hand of the person 
who fires. Certainly this is a capital pistol for boys 
who wish to get hurt. It makes a pretty loud noise 
and a good flash of fire, but it may prove a terrible 
shot for the poor boy who fires it. The little burns 
and cuts made in the hand by the flying sparks 
sometimes bring on a strange illness, called the 
lock-jaw, which is apt to prove fatal. 

There are several other pistols that can be used 
in this way. Some of them are pictured here, and 
each one is warranted to hurt the boy who fires 
it. Every one else will be perfectly safe, and 
that, I am sure, is a great blessing. I gave some 
of the caps used with these pistols to a chemist, 
and he tells me they are composed of a mixture of 
chlorate of potassium and sulphate of antimony. 

These things may not of themselves be very harm- 
ful, but the wounds they make are the same as 
those made by ~^^ ^jr-^ gunpowder, and sure 
to cause great n^ //--^~/ pain, and perhaps 
sickness and 
death. ■ 

Now, boys, if you 
must have a gun, 
why not wait till you are able to 
use a real one with safety ? In 
this country, every man has a 
right to carry a gun — not a pistol 
or revolver, but a real musket or 
rifle, to be used in defending the country. These pis- 
tols are only toys, but they are very dangerous toys. 
The Fourth of July is close at hand, when the 
very air will crackle with reports of the toy pistol. 
It is so safe, many ignorant persons think, because 
it carries neither shot nor bullet. But look into 
the newspapers on the day after the Fourth, — for 
days after the Fourth, in fact, — and you will see 
accounts of some of the innocent doings of the 
pretty toy in every city in the country. 

The insane desire of the small boy to carry a 
pistol is one of the wonders of the age ; and the 
worse than foil)' of those who allow him to do so 
is almost incredible. Of what use is it ? If the pis- 
tol will not go off, it is, as its owner would scornfully 
express it, "no good." If it does go off, it is a dan- 
gerous weapon that has power to maim and kill. 

Did you ever think what it means to kill — to 
take away life ? Who shall do so dire and terrible 
a thing as that? Are you fit to have a pistol? 
Are you wise enough to carry a revolver ? No, 
sir. It is against the law in some States to carry 
pistols. Why, then, should you wish a toy-pis- 
tol, that will shoot /S ^S\ nothing but the boy 
who holds it ? £*Pli& If you live in the 

backwoods, /^ ^^fe^pJk an & nave t0 fi§ nt 

the terrible lMM&>^J&Mlgh\ wild crow or 

the ferocious chipmunk, 
you may learn to use a 
good rifle. In cities and 
towns, where the most ter- 
rific wild beasts to be seen 

are the cats, a boy who carries a pistol is a boy 
without sense — a boy whom girls despise and 
brave boys call a coward. 



^)aid a sorrowing" rrjardgn named Kan ; 
Ihat tfjey stuff all the dolliej wiff] bran 

Ffere 15 5carcelv a doubt; 

H I « ■.'■ / vf T* 

t-mmm W \^ ^ nd ft out. 

rjat a horrid deceiver ij man. 


By Edward S. Ellis. 

Chapter X. 


" 1 wonder." sighed Crab, when the stoppage 
of the raft had lasted long enough for them to 
recover their self-possession, — " I wonder if dat am 

de end ob dis 


" I hardly think so," said Jack, " for I don't 
believe the tree, or whatever it is that detains us, 
can hold the raft a great while." 

"Why can't we shake it loose?" And Crab 
began to set the structure rocking, by way of ex- 
periment. But Jack stopped him, expressing a 
fear that he would loosen the logs and possibly 
dismember the entire raft. 

Jack then walked around the margin of the roof, 

as close to the water as was prudent, peering into 
the muddy depths, and trying to see what it was 
that held them. He saw nothing, however. 

What was to be the end of this ? 

Well might they ask the question, for, if they 
were to remain anchored in this novel fashion, 
escape would be impossible, unless some one came 
to their rescue — which, in the present condition 
of things, was scarcely to be expected. 

Looking about, over the great, turbid sea that 
was sweeping around them, they could discover 
nothing that gave them any encouragement — 
nothing but a confused mass of cabins, logs, trees, 
planks, and everything that a vast river gathers 
up when overspreading its banks for an extent 
of thousands of square miles. 

True, there were many people in sight as well, but 

1 Copyright, 1S83, by Edward S. Ellis. 




none who were so situated as to be able to give 
them any assistance. All were sufficiently occu- 
pied in endeavoring to secure their own safety, 
without risking anything to help those who were 

Far away to the south-west, a black streak stained 
the sky, as though some giant had drawn his soiled 
finger along the horizon ; and, just beneath, a dark 
object could be discerned creeping slowly along, 
like the hour-hand across the face of a clock. 

It was doubtless a steamer, but so far off that it 
was idle to hope it would be attracted by the plight 
of the children. 

" Fire off de gun ! " suggested Crab. 

" What for ? " asked Jack. 

"Fur a salute, "replied the negro; " maybe dey '11 
hear it and come ober to us." 

Jack shook his head, with a half-smile. 

" It would be only throwing away so much am- 
munition," said he. " There is no more chance of 
attracting their notice than that of the crowds on 
the wharf at Vicksburg." 

" Den I would n't fire it," said Crab, who saw- 
that his companion spoke the truth. 

" There 's something coming this way ! " called 
out Dollie, suddenly. 

The boys could not imagine what she meant, 
until she pointed directly up-stream, where they 
presently espied what seemed to be a large log 
Moating on the current. 

" That 's going to strike the raft," said Jack, 
" and more than likely it will knock us loose." 

"Wont it knock us to pieces as well?" in- 
quired Crab, anxiously. 

" I don't think the roof is put together so weakly 
as that " began Jack. 

"That is n't a log ! " interrupted Dollie, whose 
eyesight for once seemed to be more acute than 
that of the boys. 

" What is it, then ? " asked Jack. 

"It's a boat!" she replied eagerly, clapping 
her hands. 

Such proved to be the fact. The discovery 
naturally threw the children into a state of great 
excitement, for, as it was coming straight toward 
them, it offered the very means of escape they 

When within less than a hundred yards, it was 
seen to be a large flat-boat or scow, which stood 
so high out of the water as to indicate that little 
weight was in it. 

"We must have that boat," said Jack, placing 
himself on the upper part of the roof, where the 
waters foamed and rolled over the shingles, 
" though it will not be very easy to get it." 

Curiously enough, the scow was drifting as di- 
rectly toward the roof as if a skillful boatman was 

steering it. But it was reasonable to expect that 
it would swerve to one side just before reaching 
them, inasmuch as the current itself was forced to 
divide as it swept around their raft. Great care 
and no little skill, therefore, would be required to 
capture the prize. 

" Stand here by me," said Jack to Crab, " and 
the minute it comes close enough, reach out and 
catch hold, but look out that you are not drawn 
into the water." 

Crab promised to do his best, and prepared 
himself for action. The situation was exciting, 
but it became much more so in a very few minutes. 

The swiftness of the current was fully appre- 
ciated for the first time when the scow, as it neared 
them, plunged toward the raft as if about to split 
it asunder. 

Jack was afraid that he and Crab were about to 
attempt an impossible thing ; but as he fully realized 
the value of such a craft to them in the present des- 
perate state of affairs, he resolved to make the 
strongest possible effort to secure it. 

As he anticipated, the scow, when quite close to 
them, swung partly around, so that it came quar- 
tering, and was certain to approach near enough 
for Jack to catch hold of the gunwale. 

The instant it was within reach, and just as it 
began swerving with the powerful eddy, Jack 
stooped and, extending his right hand, grasped 
the gunwale with all his might. 

Almost at the same instant Crab did the same, 
and both exerted their utmost strength to stop the 
boat. But they miscalculated its momentum. 

They were both jerked off the roof and into the 
water like a flash, without in the least checking the 
motion of the scow itself. Dollie uttered a scream 
when she saw the two struggling in the river, and 
sprang up and down in frantic alarm. 

But, fortunately for Jack and Crab, they held 
fast to the gunwale, and without difficulty drew 
themselves over the side into the boat, where they 
were safe. 

But, brief as was the time occupied in doing this, 
it had carried them a couple of rods below the 
stationary roof, where Dollie stood looking at them, 
the tears still running down her cheeks. 

In the scow lay a long pole and a broad paddle. 

" Quick !" shouted Jack to Crab. "We must 
work the boat back, or Dollie is lost ! " 

Jack caught up the paddle, and began plying it 
desperately. Crab thrust the long pole into the 
water, but, although he pushed it under until his 
hand touched the surface, he did not reach bottom. 
The lower end bounded up like a cork, and the 
pole flew from his grasp. But he caught it again 
before it got beyond reach. 

Meanwhile, Jack plowed the water with the 




broad paddle, with, however, only the effect of 
turning the boat slowly around. He then plunged 
it into the river on the other side, and put all his 
strength into each stroke, while Crab, no less in 
earnest, made a vigorous but futile attempt to 
the pole as a paddle. 

They strained every nerve to the utmost, but, to 
their consternation, the boat still continued to 
drift down-stream, and further away from the 
cabin on which poor Dollie stood, helplessly look- 
ing at them. 

They toiled against hope, not pausing until 
they were fully two hundred yards away. Then 
they stopped, and looked despairingly at the dis- 
tance which separated them from the raft. 

"It's no use," said Jack, in a hopeless tone. 
" A dozen men could n't force this miserable scow 
against such a current." 

"And hab we got to leab Miss Dollie all alone?" 
said the panting Crab. 

" There is no help for 
it," replied Jack, de- 
spondently, hardly able 
to keep back his tears. 

"What will become 
ob us ? " said Crab, with 
a heavy sigh. 

" What will become of 
11s!" repeated Jack, in- 
dignantly. "What is to 
become of poor Dollie?" 

" She 's got all de per- 
wisions," replied Crab, in 
the most doleful of tones, 
" and we hab n't so much 
as a bite — and I 'm hun- 
gry enough to eat a meet- 
ing-house dis bery min- 

Jack Lawrence made 
no answer to the charac- 
teristic outburst of Crab, 
who was evidently of the 
opinion that the situation 
of the forsaken little girl 
was, after all, better than 
their own : for she was 
provided with enough food to last her a long time, 
while they had not a mouthful. 

But what was to be the fate of Dollie, who, a 
mere child as she was, could do nothing for her- 

Perhaps some passing steamer or boat might 
see and take her off before she succumbed to 
terror and exposure. But if no such help should 
reach her, what then ? 

Ay, indeed, what then ? 

Chapter XI. 



" Good-bye, Jack! " called Dollie, standing with 
her apron to her eyes, and calling to her brother, 
through her blinding tears. 

" ( iood-bye, Dollie !" came back, in a tremu- 
lous voice. " Don't give up yet ! Somebody will 
come to take you off." 

" 1 will pray to the Lord to take care of you and 
me," said Dollie, simply, "and I know He '11 do it. 
Good-bye, Crab ! " 

The negro essayed to reply, but his voice failed 
him, and he could only sob : 

"Good — bye — Dollie — we'll neber see you 
ag'in ! I feel — so bad — I want to die ! " 

"Good-bye, dear Dollie !" Jack called out. 

They exchanged endearing terms, and called to 
each other as long as they could make their voices 
heard. Dollie remained standing on the roof, 
waving her handkerchief, as long as their brim- 
ming eyes could make out her figure. Presently 
they could see nothing but a fluttering speck in 
the distance, and Anally even that faded out 

Crab seated himself on the gunwale, the picture 
of woe, while Jack, with despair in every feature, 
sat opposite. They bent their eyes on the bottom 
of the boat for awhile without speaking. 

Jack never felt more saddened and wretched in 
all his life. The consciousness that the cruel flood 
was carrying him further away every minute from 
his loved sister was enough to have crushed a 
stronger one than he. 

He presently sprang to his feet and scanned the 
waters in every direction, in quest of some one 
whom he might send to the rescue of poor Dollie. 
But there was nothing in view that could give the 
least hope. 

Not the faintest tint of smoke showed in the 
leaden sky, which proved that there was no steam- 
boat within many miles of them. There was ever 
in sight innumerable wrecks and drifting debris; 
but everything was sweeping in the same direc- 
tion — all rushing helplessly toward the far-away 
Gulf, unable to stem the tremendous current. 

Then Jack turned and peered up the river. 
Was he mistaken, or did he really see a dark ob- 
ject resting stationary on the waters, supporting 
the slight figure of a little girl, who stood erect, 
shading her eyes with one hand while she waved a 
tiny handkerchief with the other? 

Possibly he did see such a sight, but, if so, it 
was only for an instant. Then everything became 
blurred, misty, and indistinct. Once more he 
realized that he and Crab were alone and hurrying 


S W E p T A W A V 


%K^rr- — ™* — ^ttt - 


on the gunwale, waiting for Crab to recover from 
his strong emotion. 

Withdrawing his thoughts from the sad subject 
of his sister's fate, he now began to examine care- 
fully the boat in which they were sitting. 

It was fully twenty feet long by six in width, with 
a depth' of two feet. The planks were thick, sound, 
and strong, and the seams were so well caulked 
that the interior was scarcely moist. The scow — 

"jack and crab drew themselves over the 

downward, and that every minute was taking them 
further from poor Dollie, who could only pray and 
hope and wait. 

" I thought at first that the boat was a great 
prize," said Jack, rousing himself, "but it has 
proven anything but that." 

" Dat 's so." added Crab, whose regret and grief 
seemed fully as great as that of his young master. 
" If I had an ax here, I bel'ebe I 'd chop d 
tlat-boat all to pieces." 

"That would n't do any 
" What would become of 
us then ? " 

•' Who cares what be- 
comes ob us ? " blubbered 
Crab. "Does you? I don't, 
I want you to understan', 
wid poor little Dollie back 
dere cryin' hereyes out, and 

wetwocan'tdonuffin " _^ 

And once more Crab gave 
way to his sorrow, and sob- 
bed as if unable to stop. 

Grief, like mirth, is con- 
tagious ; and, though Jack had got the mastery of 
himself, his tears now flowed again in sympathy 
with Crab's. But he soon rallied, and sat silently 

or, rather, 

flat-boat — 

was well 

made, and 

would have been 

highly useful in many a place 

in the submerged territory. 
But, even had 
the boys suc- 
ceeded in trans- 

ferring Dollie and their luggage from the cabin 
to the boat, it was by no means certain that the 
situation would have been thereby iniDroved. 

i88 3 . 


68 1 

The scow was empty, save for its human freight 
and the pole and the paddle which had been plied 
so vainly against the resistless current. There was 
nothing that could give a hint of the owner, or 
tell where the craft had come from. 

Gradually the grief of Crab subsided into occa- 
sional sobs, and he finally ceased wiping his eyes. 
With moist and shining cheeks, he looked across 
at his young master. 

"Jack," said he, in a softened voice, '' dis am 
what I call rough, don't you ? " 

"Yes, it is dreadful," responded Jack. "1 
could hardly feel worse if poor Dollie had been 
drowned before our eyes." 

"Is n't it purty near noon?" continued Crab, 
skillfully leading the conversation toward his 
favorite topic. 

'• I guess not, but there is no'way of telling," 
said Jack, looking up at the sky, which was so 
heavy and overcast that the position of the sun 
could not be seen. 

" It seems to me dat it's been a week since de 
night passed," pursued the negro, reflectively. " I 
was neber hungrier in all my life." 

" Crab," said Jack, impatiently, " do stop think- 
ing, if only for a few minutes, of something to 

" So I would," replied Crab, in a mournful tone, 
" if I could only stop feeling hungry for dem few 

" You may as well make up your mind that you 
wont get anything to eat for two or three days," 
rejoined Jack, unrelentingly. 

Poor Crab looked so horrified over the bare sug- 
gestion of such a terrible fate that Jack hastened 
to add : "That is, there is such a possibility, though 
we will hope for something better." 

"Yes, let's keep on hopin'," said Crab. "I 
neber missed but one meal in all my life, and I 
did n't get ober dat for a good many weeks, so 
I don't want to try it ag'in." 

Something at that moment scraped the bottom 
of the boat. The sound was a rough, brushing 
one, such as is made by the limb of a tree grazing 
a swiftly moving board. 

" We 're going over a piece of woods," said 
Jack, his face lighting up with a sudden idea. " See 
whether you can't catch hold of one of the tree- 

Here 'and there the tree-tops of which he spoke 
could be seen, nodding and dipping after the 
manner of "sawyers " ; and there were so many of 
them visible that there could be no doubt they 
were passing over a stretch of forest. But they 
were of such a character that it was hard to find 
anything that would hold. Although they seized 
several branches, the treacherous twigs broke off 

or slipped through their fingers without in the least 
checking the progress of the boat. 

Jack now took a careful look about him. Here 
and there, over a space of a quarter of a mile, the 
tree-tops reared their heads. Many of them were 
scarcely visible, but a few projected considerably 
above the water. 

' ' Yonder is a big tree that is n't much out of our 
course," said he, presently, " and we must reach 

" What for ? " asked Crab, who did not seem to 
have caught his companion's idea. 

" So as to hang on to it till the roof floats free 
and comes down-stream," explained Jack. 

" Dat's a good idee," replied Crab. "Let me 
hab de paddle, and I '11 make tings hum." 

And so, in a figurative sense, he did. The task 
was not a difficult one, and Jack soon saw that 
the flat-boat would be driven straight among the 
branches of the tree that had caught his eye. 

"You've got it headed right, Crab," said he, 
presently. " You needn't paddle any more, but 
hold the boat to its course." 

" 1 'm so mad at de ole scow," said Crab, as he 
ceased paddling, " dat I 'd ies' like to twist it 

Jack made no answer to this childish remark, 
but gave all his attention to the work before him. 
The boat, if it should strike broadside, was likely 
to overturn, and it was necessary to guard against 
such a catastrophe, which would be fatal. 

The best of fortune attended the effort : the 
scow glided swiftly among the branches, and it so 
happened that Jack and Crab each seized a limb 
at the same moment. 

They held fast, and the boat came to a stand- 
still, pointing directly up and down the Mississippi. 

The force required to maintain it in this position 
was much less than they had anticipated, the slop- 
ing bow of the boat allowing the swift current to 
sweep under it with comparatively little resistance 
when contrasted with the way in which it had 
surged and boiled against their raft under similar 

Chapter XII. 


So SLIGHT an exertion was required to hold the 
scow stationary in the rapid current that the boys 
saw it would be easy to maintain their position for 
a long time. 

" This is all well enough," said Jack, after the 
lapse of a quarter of an hour, "but the trouble 
is we don't know how soon the roof will move, or 
whether it will move at all." 




" If de riber am risin', wont dat help tings?" 
inquired Crab. 

" I did n't think of that," replied Jack, his face 
brightening. " It can't help freeing the roof. If 
the water keeps on rising, it must lift the cabin 
clear of whatever it has caught against." 

"But den," suggested Crab, "s'posin' dat de 
Massissipp am fallin' or only standin' still — how 
den ? " 

" Then I don't see that there is much hope, for 
there is nothing to loosen the cabin," replied Jack. 
" However, we can soon tell whether the flood is 
going down or not by the tree here." 

It was tiresome work to sit motionless, and the 
boys presently set themselves to find some means 
of lightening the task. 

Jack soon hit upon a plan. The tree to which 
they had "anchored" was a sycamore, and the 
more slender branches were easily twisted and 
tied together, so as to make a firm knot. Through 
this the end of the pole was forced, and laid across 
the boat. Then, when one of the boys sat on the 
pole, the scow was held as firmly in position as 
before, while the strain on their hands was removed. 

This was an improvement, but the tedious mo- 
notony of waiting was not diminished. The air 
was chilly, and Crab, whose coat was on the roof, 
regretted more than once that he did not have it 
with him. 

While one of the boys held the pole in place and 
kept the boat still, the other remained on his feet, 
scanning the horizon, especially to the northward, 
in quest of the precious raft on which little Dollie 
Lawrence had been left. 

" Shuah as I lib, if dar aint a steam-boat ! " 
finally exclaimed the overjoyed Crab, indicating a 
point to the west and a little below them. 

There was a large boat indeed, the smoke pour- 
ing from her two tall funnels, while her wheels 
churned the current into yellow, muddy foam. 
The pilot was at the wheel, and there appeared to 
be plenty of passengers moving hither and thither, 
principally occupied in surveying the waste of 
waters around them. Two could be seen with 
glasses leveled, apparently at something a long 
way off. But all failed to notice the scow, stand- 
ing motionless, half-buried in a bushy tree-top. 

Crab and Jack shouted, and in turn waved their 
arms and hats violently, and it was hardly possible 
that they were not seen. But, if they were ob- 
served, the boat did not change its course, and 
was soon so far up the river that the boys gave 
up their effort to attract the notice of those on 

" Dat 's what I call a mean piece ob business," 
said Crab, taking his seat on the pole and bang- 
ing his hat on the bottom of the scow. "They 

need n't pretend dat dey did n't obsarve us, when 
I was jumpin' up and down all de time in front ob 

"Of course they saw us," said Jack. "But they 
must have concluded that we were well enough off 
without taking us aboard." 

" And' dar 's whar dey 're mistook," said Crab, 
in a tone of dejection. 

Crabapple Jackson was so indignant over the 
action of the captain and pilot of the steamer that 
he was anxious they should be punished in some 

" If dey did n't want to take us aboard," he con- 
tinued, sulkily, "why didn't dey run alongside 
and fling some perwisions to us, so dat we wont 
starve to death Heigho ! " 

"What's the matter?" asked Jack, a little 

" Dis pole am sort ob twistin' loose," explained 
Crab, partiy rising, and looking down as if to de- 
mand what it meant. " What makes it cut up in 
dat sort ob style ? " 

"I understand," said Jack. " The river is rising, 
and it makes more strain on the pole as the other 
end is lifted against the knot in the limbs. That 
pleases me." 

"So it does me," said Crab, earnestly, "if it 
makes any better show for poor Dollie on de roof 
up de riber." 

" It must help her," said Jack, with the empha- 
sis of one who was determined to make himself be- 
lieve the best. 

Jack balanced himself on the side of the boat and 
strained his eyes in every direction, in the hope of 
catching sight of the old cabin on the roof of which 
this strange voyage had been begun. 

He could not, however, discover anything that 
looked like it, and so he again took his seat on the 
pole, which stretched across from one side to the 
other. Crab then went to the bow, and balanced 
himself on the gunwale for a search in his turn. 

While he was doing so, Jack intently watched 
the black, honest face, certain that he could read 
success or failure there. Only a few minutes had 
passed, when it seemed as though a ray of sunshine 
flashed from the sky and illuminated the swarthy 

"What is it?" asked Jack, quickly. 

"'Clare to goodness!" replied Crab, breath- 
lessly, "if I don't see sumfin' dat looks bery like 
dat same ole roof! " 

At the risk of precipitating himself into the 
water, he rose on tiptoe so as to gain an additional 
inch or two in height ; then he remained silent a 
minute gazing up the river, while Jack studied his 
face no less intently. 

" Yes, I see sumfin' dat looks like de ole roof," 



repeated Crab to himself, " and it am dc roof, too ! 
— And I don't know, but I tinks I see sumfin' on 
top dat looks like a little gal wuvin' her handker- 
chief — yes, it am a little gal which her name am 
Dollie, and here goes tank de Lord ! " 

And springing into the middle of the scow, Crab 
flung his hat into the air and danced a most vigor- 
ous breakdown, ending it by striking his heel 
against the planking with a force that threatened 
to start the seams. Then, with a face beaming 
with delighted expectancy, he added : 

" Now, dar 's a chance to get some dinner ! " 

Chapter XIII. 


JACK was so afraid that Crab had been mistaken 
that he requested him to exchange places with him. 
Then he carefully balanced himself on the prow 
and gunwale, and looked up-stream. 

There certainly was a dark object approaching, 
which might well be the cabin they left anchored 
among the trees, but for a minute or two he could 
see nothing resembling the figure of a person 
upon it. 

Just as he was about to make a remark to that 
effect, Crab inquired : 

" Don't you see her ? — standin' in de middle ob 
de roof?" 

" I can not see anything at all," said Jack — 
'" but yet — hold on ! " he added, excitedly. 

■' I thought so," said Crab, with a grin. 

Yes, he now discerned a figure which a minute 
or two later was recognized as that of a little girl, 
who, of course, must be Dollie. 

All doubt on that important point was removed 
when Jack plainly observed the fluttering handker- 
chief in her hand. She was signaling to her 
friends that she was coming, though it was hardly 
to be supposed that as yet she saw the scow among 
the tree-tops. 

A thrill of joy and gratitude too deep for words 
went to the heart of Jack Lawrence when he real- 
ized that his lost sister had been mercifully re- 
stored to him (for there was no reason to fear any 
difficulty in taking her from the cabin). 

Crab was so overjoyed that, although obliged to 
keep his weight on the cross-pole, he continued to 
shuffle vigorously with his large feet, ending the 
performance by banging one of his heels against 
the planking on the bottom with sufficient force, 
as it would seem, judging from the sound, to drive 
a nail to its head. 

• ■ Dat am de best ting dat could have happened," 
he said to himself; " for if dat steam-boat had 
tooken us off, mebbe dcy would n't hab had enough 

to eat, while Dollie is sure to hab plenty, and it 
can't be far from dinner time." 

Only a few minutes passed before Dollie caught 
sight of her brother, who was waving his cap and 
shouting her name. The distance decreased so 
fast that soon they were able to call to each other 
without difficulty. 

" Halloo, Jack ! " came in the clear voice he knew 
so well. " Are you and Crab all right?" 

" Nothing is the matter with us " Jack was 

beginning, when Crab, speaking eagerly and in an 
under-tone, interrupted him. 

" Jes' frow in an obserwation dat I 'm ready for 
dinner and can't wait much longer; dat will lead 
her to keep her eye on de bag ob perwisions." 

Jack, however, chose to disregard the request of 
Crab, who straightened his body as much as he 
could while still sitting, so as to catch sight of the 
cabin and its single passenger. Finally, unable 
to restrain himself, he stood up, keeping one of 
his feet on the pole to prevent its slipping away. 

This gave him the desired view, and he became 
so interested that he forgot himself until the pole 
was suddenly wrenched from its place, and the 
scow began moving down the current again. 

" What 's the matter ? " demanded Jack, hastily 
catching at one of the branches. "Why don't you 
attend to your business, Crab ? " 

The accident was of small importance, how- 
ever, for it was an easy matter now to propel the 
scow to the floating cabin, since their relative posi- 
tions were the same as if the water was perfectly 

As the boys had paddled considerably out of a 
direct course to reach the tree, the cabin would 
have gone some distance to their left had they 
remained stationary until it had passed by. 

But it was yet above them when Jack let go his 
hold and seized the paddle, while Crab essayed to 
assist his efforts with the pole ; but, as before, it 
proved of no use, as it did not reach the bottom. 

As Jack began working the heavy boat toward 
the cabin, he noticed that, since he had last seen 
it, the cabin had settled so that the roof was now 
almost flat on the surface. It looked as though 
the structure was being gradually dismembered by 
the action of the current. It was not unlikely that 
even the shingles of the roof might soon separate. 

A vigorous use of the large oar sent the scow 
steadily toward the raft on which Dollie was stand- 
ing, with the gun, the bundle of clothing, and the 
bag of provisions near her. Crab was quick to ob- 
serve this latter article, and did all he could to 
hasten the transfer. 

■■Wasn't it nice, after all ?" asked Dollie. as 
they came closer together. " I did n't have to 
wait long before the water just lifted me clear." 

68 4 



" Did you see the steam-boat ? " inquired Jack. 

" Yes," said she, with a smile, " and I lay down 
as low as I could on the roof, so they would n't see 

"What under the sun did you do that for?" 
asked her astonished brother. 

"I was afraid they would come and take me 
off," said she, naively. 

" But was n't that the best thing that could have 
happened to you, Dollie ? " asked Jack, in a tone 
of grave reproach. 

"Perhaps so. But," she added, with a sweet 
smile, " what would have become oi you without me, 
and how would you have got anything to eat?" 

" I declar' ! " exclaimed the grinning Crab, "she 
am de most sensiblest little ting along de Massis- 
sipp. If dey had picked her up dey would n't hab 
come back for us, and like as not we would n't 
hab had any supper to-night arter going widout 
dinner, too." 

With little trouble the scow was swung around so 
that the bow rested against the upper side of the 
cabin, where it could be easily held. Crab kept his 

place at the stern, while Jack stepped to the roof were at their command. 

" Good-bye ! " called Dollie, waving her hand. 
" I don't suppose we shall ever see our house 

"If we do, it wont amount to much as a house," 
laughed her brother, ready to make light of any- 
thing in his happiness over the recovery of his 
precious sister. 

"Dollie," suggested Crab at this point, "don't 
you think it 's 'bout dinner time ? " 

" For mercy's sake, do give him something to 
eat ! " said Jack. " He is n't able to wait another 

The girl gladly waited on Crab, who devoured 
the bacon and cold corn-bread as though he were 
really famishing. 

He was given twice as much as any one else, 
and would have been glad of as much more. Jack, 
however, prudently limited each to what he consid- 
ered necessary. 

The little party were now in a large scow, with 
pole and paddle, provisions, and a double-barrel 
gun. The last was loaded, but they had no more 
ammunition, so that the two charges were all that 

and met his sister. 

" Oh, Jack, I am so glad to see you ! " cried she, 
as they met. And, with one bound, Dollie sprang 
into the arms opened to receive her. The tears 
ran down the cheeks of both as they embraced 
each other, for their delight was beyond words. 

Then, as he gently released his sister. Jack led 
her to the bow, where she was helped into the 

Happy Crab shook the hand of the little girl 
warmly, for he was scarcely less overjoyed than 
her brother. 

" Look out, Jack, that we don't float away and 
leave you on the roof, just as you did me," said 
the anxious Dollie. 

Jack laughed, and replied that no such danger 
could threaten while the raft and scow were float- 
ing down-stream together. 

The bag of food and the clothing were quickly 
passed to the ready hands of Crab, and then, with 
the gun in his grasp, Jack sprang into the boat. 
Crab pushed the pole against the cabin, and 
separated the two by a distance of several yards. 

The)' had no means of telling where they were 
in the flood, the extent of which was such that the 
shore was invisible on the right and left. The)' 
judged, however, that they had not yet reached 
the mouth of the Arkansas, because in that case 
an agitation of the current would have been 

The hope of our voyagers was that the)' might 
be seen by some steamer passing up or down, and 
be taken aboard. Though their situation was 
scarcely an enviable one, it was still far better 
than that of thousands of others who were in- 
volved in the unprecedented flood which devas- 
tated the vast tract of country adjoining the lower 
Mississippi and its tributaries during the month 
of March, 18S2. 

" Keep a bright lookout," said Jack, "and, if we 
catch sight of a steamer, we '11 make for it. We 
have seen three already, so it can't be so very 
long before we run across another." 

All scanned the waters in every direction, but 
nothing was seen which could awaken hope of a 
speedy rescue. 

(To be continued.) 


68 5 

By Evelyn Muller. 

It was such a 
beautiful even- 
ing that you 
would have 
thought even 

the frogs would get out on 

the bank and watch the 

sunset: but they were too . . . 

busy quarreling. Such shouts and groans came things the frogs were saying to each other, becaus, 

out of that pond! "You 're wrong, wrong, ong ! some thought it would ram, and some d,d n t. 

Get down, ge'down, down!" "Cheat, a cheat. Suddenly, while they were lighting a boj 

cheat I " These were only a few of the dreadful pounced on Rana Pipiens, and carried h.m off. 




Rana Pipiens belonged to the family of Ranas, but 
he put his last name first because he was a frog 
(they don't put names the same way as we do), and 
he was called " Pip," for short. The boy carried 
him to town, and sold him to a man who kept a 
flower store, and the man put him into a large 
glass jar full of water, and set him in the window. 
Pip rather liked his new quarters, 
and found abundant amusement 
in watching the peo- 
ple in the street. 

Sometimes young '^J"?^ -^S^v^%<' 
ladies came in to \ Jr 

top of a house. Pip wished he was back in his 
glass jar, for he thought surely that a heron had 
got him, and was taking him up to a tree-top to eat 
him. Pip had an aunt's sister's cousin who had 
been eaten by a Iieron that way, and he remem- 
bered it now, and was very badly frightened. But 
when he found himself taken into a large sunshiny 
room, and placed in another glass 
jar, he felt very much relieved. 
Close beside him he saw a pond 
of water, cool and shady, 
- under dark bushes. "I 
shall get into that 

buy flow- 
ers, and 
when they 
looked at 
Pip, and 

said, "What 
an awfully 
funny creat- 
ure ! "he felt 


But he wished for another frog to talk to, and by 
and by he wanted a larger place to swim in. Then 
he grew very unhappy indeed, and was just think- 
ing of starving himself to death, when some one 
took him out of the jar, and carried him into the 
street, and up ever so many flights of stairs to the 

said Pip 
to himself. 
But it was 
only a picture 
of a pond, and 
Pip was kept 
in the jar, 
though he 
wondered why. 
Presently fresh troubles began. A man sat down 
in front of him, with pencil and paper, and watched 
him. Pip did n't like to be stared at, so he turned 
around in the jar. Then the man (who was an 
artist) turned the jar around, till Pip faced him 
again. This was provoking. Pip squatted flat, and 




put down his head, and tried to look like a piece of 
mud, the way he used to at home, when danger 
threatened. But that was of no use either. The 
artist shook the jar, and turned it nearly upside 
down, till Pip got over his bashfulness, and behaved 
as a model frog should — or as a frog should who 
has been bought for a model. 

This sort of thing was repeated on several days, 
till Pip nearly wondered himself sick, trying to 
imagine what was the matter with that man who 
stared at him so much. 

But one day Pip found himself alone, and no 
cover on the jar. He was not long in getting out, 
and, hopping over the table, he began to explore 
this strange country. After he had knocked over 
an inkstand, and upset a glass of water into a 
drawer full of papers, he fell off on to the floor, 
and tried to get into the picture of the pond. It 
was surprising, but one good jump, which ought 
to have taken him clear into the middle of the 
pond, only knocked him flat on his back, and gave 
him a headache. He gave up that pond as a 
mystery. Presently he saw several happy-looking 
frogs sitting together among some grass. They 
looked just like his cousins of the Rana family ; but 
when he said "Good-day" to them, and remarked 
that the pond of water here seemed to be frozen 
hard, they never answered him a word, nor even 
winked a wink at him. Pip concluded they were 
huffed because he had not called on them before, 
and he turned his mind to more discoveries. Three 
pretty little ducks, yellow and fuzzy, were standing 
on the wall, high above Pip's head. It was very 
strange. Pip could almost hear them quack, and 
he looked carefully around, for fear the old mother 
duck might be after him. But none came; the 
little ducks had no mother it seemed, and what 
was more strange, they never moved, though Pip 

looked steadily at them. It was a wonderful 
place, this artist's studio ; at least, it was to a frog 
from the country. "There's a turtle, as sure as 
my name is Rana Pipiens ! " exclaimed Pip, and 
he looked around for a safe place. But the turtle 
sat still on its log ; so did the little turtles with it. 
They never seemed to see that there was a fat 
young frog close beside them. But Pip was too 
frightened to investigate any further. He sat 
perfectly still, under the table, in the shadow of 
the waste-paper basket, while a few drops of ink 
slowly dripped on him from the table-top. He 
was very miserable, and when the artist came and 
put him back in the jar, Pip could have thanked 
him, he was so glad to feel safe again. These 
strange adventures put Pip out of spirits, and he 
no longer made a lively model, so the artist put 
him in a tumbler of water, one day, tied a cloth 
over the top to keep him safe, and carried him out 
to the country. Pip could hardly believe his eyes 
when he saw grass and trees again. Presently the 
cloth was taken off, and Pip was gently rolled out 
on the edge of a beautiful pond. Pip remembered 
the strange, hard pond in the studio, and stopped 
for half a minute. Then he caught sight of a 
familiar frog face in the water. " It is my pond ! " 
cried Rana Pipiens; and with one leap he reached 
the deep water, and was at home again. 

Such stories Pip had to tell ! Every evening, 
that whole summer long, he sat on the shore, and 
related his adventures, always beginning with : 
" Ahem ! When I was in the country where ponds 
are frozen green, and little ducks hang up in the 

sky " But few of his family believed him. 

These things were too wonderful. When he began 
in this manner, they generally looked at each other, 
put their right forefinger to their heads, and said, 
" He 's wrong, ong, ong! " 

By Lilian Payson. 

; PLEASE wear my rose-bud. for love, Papa," 
Said Phebe with eyes so blue. 

Papa looked into the laughing eyes, 

And answered, to each little girl's surprise 

"This sprig of myrtle put with it, Papa, 
To tell of my love," said Prue. 

" My darlings, I thank you, but dearer than these — 
Forgive me — far dearer, are bonnie sweet peas." 

Said Patience, "This heart's-case shall whisper. 
Forget not my love is true." 

Then he clasped them close to his heart so true, 
And whispered. " Sweet P's — Phebe, Patience, 
and Prue! " 




iES 3 .] 




By Charles Barnard. 

There is between the city of New York and the 
city of Brooklyn an arm of the sea called the East 
River. It extends along the east side of Man- 
hattan Island, and it certainly looks like a river. 
It was probably named the East River to distinguish 
it from the North or Hudson River on the west 
side of the island. For all that, it is not a river. 
A real river, as you know, rises among the hills — 
begins as a little rill in the grass, and glides down 
through farms and forests to the sea. To the 
south of New York City is the great New York 
Bay, just at the angle where the coast of New 
Jersey, which faces the east, meets the coast of 
Long Island, which faces south. Long Island was 
well named, for it extends all along the shore of 
New York and Connecticut. Long Island Sound 
begins near New York City, and spreads out wider 
and wider toward the east till it meets the sea 
near Rhode Island. This East River connects the 
Sound with New York harbor, which opens through 
the Narrows into New York Bay. Thus it happens 
that the East River is a part of the sea. All the 
sloops and steam-boats and ships and steamers com- 
ing down the Hudson or from the ports scattered 
along our Southern coast, and wishing to go to 
ports on the Sound, pass through this narrow and 
winding river. Steamers bound to Providence, to 
Boston, past Cape Cod to Maine and the Eastern 
Provinces, take this river to reach the great Sound 
and the ocean beyond. 

Day and night, summer and winter, an endless 
procession of ships, steam-boats, canal-boats, 
schooners, sloops, and barges sails or steams along 
this arm of the sea. It is like a Broadway upon 
the water, crowded with traffic. There comes a 
fussy little tug, toiling along with four great schoon- 
ers deep laden with coal. They have come from 
the coal depots at Jersey City, and are bound 
East. There is a big, lazy sloop, with a cargo of 
red bricks. She has just dropped down the Hud- 
son from Haverstraw, and is steering for some Con- 
necticut port. Behind her, coming the other way, 
just arrived from New London or Fall River, plows 
along a monstrous steamer crowded with people. 
What a queer tow that is! The tug-boat is drag- 
ging a long string of canal-boats and old hulks 
laden with lumber, oats, and corn. Perhaps they 
came through the Erie Canal from the West, and 
are going to Narragansett Bay. There are ships 
from France and Norway, English steamers and 
Italian barks, bound in or out, and never for a 

Vol. X. — 44. 

moment is the water quiet. Perhaps a stately war- 
ship, with tall, slender masts, regular " sky-scrap- 
ers," comes down from the Navy Yard and salutes 
the forts with her roaring guns. The tide runs 
swift and strong, and the waves leap in white 
clouds of spray from the sharp bows of flying 
steam-boats, or roll in surging billows from the 
black stems of huge merchantmen. It is like a 
bit of the great sea, with a city on either side. 

There are more people living by the banks of 
this arm of the sea than in any other place on this 
continent. Nearly half a million people cross this 
rough, swift-flowing water every day ; and though 
the ferry-boats are among the largest and best in the 
world, the little voyage is at times long and dan- 
gerous. Fogs sometimes delay the boats for hours, 
and floating ice in winter often blocks the way so 
that navigation is almost suspended. 

" It seems to me they need a bridge at this 
point," do I hear some bright boy say? That is 
what other people thought, years ago, with the 
result that to-day, as you are reading this, there is 
a bridge, and you may walk from New York to 
Brooklyn in any weather. Perhaps you think that 
this is nothing worth talking about — all it was 
necessary to do was to build a bridge. Let us see 
about this. 

The East River is an arm of the sea. You can 
not bridge such water, because it belongs to the 
nation, and every one has a right to sail there. 
Beside, we must in honor permit the people of 
other nations to sail their ships in our waters. 

Such a place as this is called navigable water, 
and the United States Government could not per- 
mit navigable water to be obstructed by a bridge, 
however convenient it might be for the people of 
New York and Brooklyn. The New Jersey schoon- 
er carrying coal to Connecticut, the Haverstraw 
lighter laden with bricks, the boats from Boston, 
the lumber sloops from Maine, and the vessels of 
foreign nations as well, have a right to sail here, 
and no man can stop them by building a bridge. 

Why not have a draw-bridge? That is a sensi- 
ble question ; but when the ships and steamers are 
as thick as the teams on Broadway, the draw would 
have to be kept open all the time, and then what 
would the people on the bridge do? 

See that full-rigged ship coming down with the 
tide, under the escort of that little tug. Look at 
her tall masts. That pennant flying at her main- 
top is more than one hundred feet above her decks. 




Her masts are taller than many a church steeple. 
If there is to be a bridge, it must take one grand 
flying leap from shore to shore over the masts of 
the ships. There can be no piers or draw-bridge. 
There must be only one great arch all the way 
across. Surely this must be a wonderful bridge. 

When they first began to talk about bridging 
the East River, there was much discussion as to 
what kind of a bridge it should be. It might be 
made of iron or wooden piles, driven into the bed 
of the river, with the roadway on top. 

Figure No. I represents in outline the plan on 
which such a bridge would be built. The sloping 

Suppose two posts be set up on one bank of a 
river, and two more on the other bank, directly 
opposite. Then suppose a rope was stretched from 

lines at each side stand for the banks, and the 
broken lines for the water of the river. The up- 
right lines are the piles, and the roadway is shown 
by the horizontal lines resting on the piles. 

A bridge might also be built of stone, supported 
by a number of arches resting on the bottom of 
the river. Such a bridge is shown in Figure 2. 

But neither of these two kinds would answer, for 
there is no room for ships to pass. 

Pile-bridges and bridges with arches have been 
built for centuries. Figure 3 is an outline of a 
very different kind of bridge, invented in modern 
times. On either bank is a stone pier, and on these 
rests a great iron box. Where such a bridge is 

used, the people cross the river by walking inside 
this box, going in at one end and coming out at 
the other. In this kind of bridge there are no piles 
or arches to obstruct the river, and if the piers arc 
high enough, the ships can freely sail under the 
big iron box. But a bridge built in this way over 
the East River would not only be very difficult to 
make, but it would have to be so high up in the 
air that it would be liable to be blown down. 

one post on one side of the river to the opposite 
post, and a second rope was stretched between the 
other posts. Then if short boards were laid on 
the two ropes they would make a hanging bridge. 
(See Fig. 4.) This style of bridge was used by 
the Chinese so long ago that no one can tell who 
first thought of it or tried to make one. Perhaps 
the old builder got the idea from seeing a grape- 
vine hanging from tree to tree over a brook. 
On other pages are pictures of the finished 
bridge. Which is it, a pile bridge, an arched 
bridge, a box bridge, or is it a hanging bridge ? 
Clearly it is a hanging bridge. You can easily 
pick out the ropes stretching over the river. This 
form of bridge is called a suspension bridge be- 
cause it is hung, or suspended, over the river. If 
you study the pictures, you will see that the ropes 
or cables hang down in the center and are lowest 
over the middle of the river. But even a suspen- 
sion bridge must be high enough to enable ships 
to pass under. So it is the custom in building such 
bridges to raise the cables on towers, and thus 
make room under the bridge. 

In Figure 4 you see the rope is made fast to 
the post on one shore, carried over the top of the 
tower that stands at the edge of the bank, and 
stretched across the river to the top of the opposite 
tower. On this side it is likewise fastened to a 
post or stone pier. Of course, the people who 
cross such a bridge would not find it convenient 
to go over the top of the towers. What shall they 
do ? Look once more at the pictures of the bridge. 
See the slender lines hanging down from the 
cables. These are called the suspenders. Each 
one is fastened to the cable and supports the end 
of an iron beam. So it appears there are beams 
hung in the air under the cables, and on these 
beams is laid the roadway. The towers have 
arches, and the men and horses pass under the 
arches and over the hanging bridge. Study the 
pictures on page 688, and you will see just how all 
this has been clone. 

Now, while the idea on which this bridge is 
built is so simple, the real work was a great labor, 
costing millions of dollars and occupying years of 
time. The towers must be high enough to raise 
the lowest part of the cables, where they hang down 



in the middle, sufficiently to let ships pass under. 
The river is wide and the cables proportionately 
long, and they must be securely fastened at the 
ends so that they will never pull out and let the 
bridge fall down. The shore on each bank is low, 
and behind the bank on both sides the land rises 
slightly. The entire bridge, therefore, extends 
from the top of a hill down to the water-side, over 
the river, and over the streets and houses to the 
top of the second hill. Horses can not climb up to 
the lofty bridge over the water, and there must be 
a long inclined plane up which they can walk. The 
more we look at this bridge, the more interesting 
it becomes. 

The towers must stand at the edge of the water, 
but this is always a bad place to build, because the 
ground is sandy or covered with soft mud. There 

feet high and the bottom fifteen feet thick. The 
box has no top, and the edges of the four sides are 
sharp and bound with iron. Such a box, turned 
over and placed upside down in the water, would 
act just as the tumbler in our experiment. Such 
a box is called a caisson, and there is one under 
each of the towers of the great bridge. 

A caisson is, of course, built upside down, for it 
is too big to turn over, and it is the custom to 
build them on shore and then to launch them, just 
as a ship is launched. Figure 5 shows the 
caisson under the Brooklyn tower just as it began 
to sink in the soft sand. On one side is the shore, 
and on the other the deep water. Piles are driven 
on each side of the caisson to make an inclosed 
dock, so that it may rest in smooth water. You 
see the heavy top of the box, made of layers of 

must be a firm foundation, and the only way to timbers, and the sharp edges of the sides cutting 

find it is to dig deep under the sand or muddy 
water. How could they do that ? Every hole 
made by a spade fills up with water, and even if 
they managed to make a shallow cellar the water 
would soon be over their heads. They must call 
on the atmosphere, and use the invisible air as a 
shield to keep away the water. 

How can such a strange thing be done? 
Get the wooden chopping-bowl from the 
kitchen and a clear glass tumbler. F 
the bowl half full of water, and then, 
holding the tumbler upside down, press it 
slowly into the water till it touches the 
bottom. When it rests there you will see 

down into the sand. As the box rests on the edges 
its weight causes it to sink. In the middle of the 
roof of the caisson is a well that reaches down to a 
pool of water inside. On top is a derrick for hoist- 
ing the dirt and stones out of the well, and a little 
railroad for carrying the rubbish to the barge that 
floats in the river. On top of the caisson can also be 
seen some of the stones 
of the tower. Inside are 
men at work digging up 
the sand and bowlders. 
The picture does not 
tell all the story. There 
are on the shore great 
pumps called compres- 
sors, driven by a steam- 

there is no water inside the tumbler, and that the 
bottom of the bowl is nearly dry. The air caught 
under the tumbler has pushed the water away. If the 
tumbler were large enough, a man could stand inside 
and dig out the bottom of the bowl quite comfortably. 
Now imagine a huge wooden box, 168 feet long 
and 102 feet wide. The sides of the box are nine 

engine, and these compressors are pumping air 
through pipes into the caisson. This compresses and 
condenses the air under the caisson where the men 
are at work, and prevents the water from coming in 
under the sides. It is this that forces the water up 
into the well nearly to the top, as you see in the pict- 
ure. Of course, there must be a door on top for the 




men to go in. This is the most curious thing of all. 
If there was but one door, the moment it was opened 
the compressed air inside would rush out, the water 
would break in through the sand under the side of 
the caisson, the workmen below would be drowned, 
and the work come to a stop. So two air-tight 
doors are arranged, one below the other. The 
workman opens one door, enters the place be- 
tween the two doors, closes it behind him and 
then opens the second door. Such a set of double 
doors is called an "air-lock," and it is certainly a 
very clever invention. The air might also rush up 
the well, but you see the well touches the pool of 
water inside, and this makes a seal to keep it air- 
tight. The picture below shows the inside of the 
caisson. One man is going up a ladder to the air- 
lock, and the others are busy digging in the wet 
sand. As the men inside the caisson dig away 
the sand and let it settle deeper and deeper in the 
water, others on top lay the foundation-stones of 
the tower. The weight increases with every stone 
laid ; and thus the work proceeds, the caisson 

sinking and 
carrying the 

great box, impelled by the terrible weight of the 
rising tower, could crush its way downward. 

At last, when the caisson had sunk forty feet 
under water, solid ground was reached, and it 
would sink no further. Then the whole interior, 
where the men had been at work, was filled in 
solid with small stones and sand mixed with 
cement. There the box rests securely under the 
sea, where the heart of the old oak will remain 
green and sound for centuries. The lofty tower 
stands secure on its wooden foundation, and noth- 
ing save an earthquake can ever shake it down. 
The caisson under the tower built on the New York 
side of the river had to be carried down much 
deeper than on the Brooklyn side. It, too, stands 
on top of the great box, and the two towers thus 
have their feet in wooden shoes to keep them firm 
and dry. 

By the time the sinking caissons had found a 
resting-place, the towers had been built high 
enough to begin the work of laying stone on stone 
up toward the clouds. Powerful steam engines were 
set up behind each tower, and great iron drums (or 
pulleys) were connected with them. On top of 

down with it, 
and the stone 
work rising high 
er at the same time. 
But all this was not done with 
out great difficulty and danger. 
Once the caisson took fire. Sev- 
eral times the air escaped, and 
rushed out of the caisson in a terrible fountain of 
mud and water. Stones were caught under the 
edge of the caisson, and much toil and time were 
spent in blasting them before the edge of the 


the rising towers were placed iron wheels, and from 
the drums up to the wheel, downward to a second 
wheel at the foot of the tower, and then under- 
ground to the drum, was laid a strong wire rope. 



Thus, when the engine turned the drum, the. rope 
ran up or down over the top of the tower. To 
raise the stones the blocks were secured by 
chains to this rope, and the engine whirled them 
away into the air. The masons worked on day 
by day, summer and winter, laying each stone in 
place, and lifting the splendid towers above the 
houses, above the steeples, higher and higher into 
the air. From time to time, the wire rope had to 
be made longer as the towers rose. Schooners 
and sloops brought the massive stones to the' dock; 
the derricks unloaded them, block by block, and put 
them in reach of the men, and the engines lifted 
them into place. The lower part of the tower is 
solid ; then it is hollow up to the base of the great 
arches, 119 feet above the water. These splendid 
arches rise 1 17 feet higher, and the cap-stones rest 
271 feet above the tide. 

In building a suspension bridge, it is very im- 
portant to find a place where the ends of the ropes 
or cables can be properly fastened. Any weight 
put upon the bridge must be held up by the cables. 
These pass over the top of the towers, but they 
are not fastened there. The cables merely rest 
on the towers, and unless they were securely 
fastened beyond, they would give way, slip over 
the towers, and let the bridge fall. To fasten 
the cables to the towers would never do, for the 
weight of the bridge would pull them over into the 
water. The place where the ends of the cables 
rest is called an anchorage. It is really a stone 
anchor for fastening the cables into the ground 
so that they can not be pulled out. The anchor- 
ages for this bridge are each 930 feet behind the 
towers, and each consists of a great stone structure 
127 feet long and 1 19 feet wide on the ground, and 
So feet high. As large as a church and as tall as a 
house, these curious stone structures make the 
jumping-off place where the people going over 
the bridge seem to leave solid ground and walk 
out into the air over the houses. These anchor- 
ages, with the cables fastened to them, are plainly 
shown in two of the pictures. One is a view from 
the side, and one is from the street below. 

The manner of building these anchorages was 
very curious. An elevated railroad was built just 
over the place where the walls were to stand. On 
this lofty railroad ran a very accommodating engine, 
that not only picked up the big stones from the 
trains in the streets, but lifted each block in the air 
and carried it to just the place where the masons 
wished it laid. The strangest thing of all was the 
funny way the engine passed around the sharp 
curves of the railroad. One track was curved or 
bent in a half-circle. The other track turned 
sharply around at right angles. When the engine 
came to the corner, one pair of wheels ran around 

the curve and the other pair stood still, just like a boy 
standing on one leg and turning around on his heel. 

Deep in 
the ground, 
under these 
were laid 
enor m o u s 
pieces of 
cast-iron. In 
each was a hole 
and through this 
hole was passed a great 
iron bar, having an eye at 
the end. It was, in fact, a 
monster needle. A steel 
pin, passed through the 
eye under the casting, 
made a great anchor. 
Other bars were 
joined by pins to the 
first, and in this way 
a chain of bars was 
laid up from the 
anchor to the top of 
the anchorage. The 

'-..WSMi «» 


was built 
over the anch- 
ors and around 
the bars, and 
thus they were fastened down by the whole weight 
of the anchorage. It was to the ends of these 
chains of bars that the cables of the bridge were 
fastened. The weight of the men and horses on 
the bridge is thus really sustained by the stones and 
anchors on the hill-side, far back from the towers. 

6 9 4 



After the towers had been built and the anchor- making an endless rope, and when the engine 
ages made ready, then came the strangest work moved, the ropes traveled to and fro over the river. 

For this reason they were called the "travelers." 

of all. 

To make 
the cables 

put them 

There were, besides these travelers, two more 
ropes placed side by side. On these were laid 
short pieces of oak, thus making a foot-bridge 
on which the workmen could cross the river. 

One of the pictures shows this slender bridge, 
that extended over the tops of the towers. It 
was taken from the New York anchorage at the 
time the bridge was building. Another picture 
shows one of the engineers of the bridge cross- 
ing on the traveling-rope — the first man to 
cross the river by way of the bridge. 

There were also other ropes for supporting 
platforms, on which the men stood as the weav- 
s*' - ' ing went on. On each traveler was hung an 
iron wheel, and as the traveler moved the 
wheel went with it. 
It took only ten minutes to send two wires 
over the river in this way. The men on the 
foot-bridge and on the platforms suspended from 
the other ropes guided the two wires into place, 
and thus the cables were woven, little by little, 
two slender steel wires each time, and carefully 
laid in place till the 5434 wires were bound to- 
gether in a huge cable, fifteen and three-quarter 
inches in diameter. The work was fairly started 
by the nth of June, 1877, and the last wire was 


over the tow- 
ers would be 
a difficult mat- 
ter. Very likely 
it could not be done 
at all. So the ca- 
bles were made, 
just where they 
hang, one small 
wire at a time. The 
cables are not chains with links, nor are 
they twisted like ropes. They are bundles 
of straight wires laid side by side, and 
bound together by wires wound tightly 
around the outside. They called the work 
" weaving the cable." 

At the Brooklyn anchorage was placed 
a powerful steam-engine, and on the top 
of the anchorage were placed two large 
wheels, and with the aid of proper ma- 
chinery the engine caused these wheels to 
turn forward or backward. From each wheel was 
stretched a steel rope to the top of the Brooklyn 
tower, over the river, over the other tower, and 
down to the New York anchorage. Here it passed 
over another wheel, and then stretched all the way- 
back again. The ends were fastened together, 


laid October 5, 1878. 
There are four cables, each 
3578U feet long, and if all the 
wires in the four cables were placed in line, 
they would reach over fourteen thousand miles. 
The work was long and dangerous. Sometimes 



the wire would break and fall into the water-, and 
an hour or more would be spent in hauling it up 
and starting once more. The men on the foot- 
bridge or on the cradles high in the air watched 
every wire as it was laid in place. To start and 
stop the engine, men stood on the top of the tow- 
ers and waved signal flags to the engineer. Such 
a mass of wires would not very easily keep in place, 
and as the work went on, a number of wires were 
bound together into little bundles or ropes, and at 
the end all were bound together into one smooth 
round bundle or cable. 

The next great work was to wrap the wires by 
winding a wire around the outside, to hold them a. 
together and to keep out the rain and snow. The 
great bundles of steel wire were loose and irregular, 
and the first step was to put on wooden clamps to 
bind the bundles into something like the right 
shape. Then came the men riding in the '' bug- 
gy " — a car suspended from the cable. As you 
see by the picture (p. 694), the buggy was a 
sort of platform, suspended from wheels 
that run on the cables. The workmen 
in it had with them a steel clamp they 
put around the bundle of wires to bring 
it into shape, and then with wooden 
mallets they beat on the outside of 
the bundle till it was hammered 
into the right shape. It would 
be very difficult to wrap the cable 
with wire by hand, and have it fit 
smooth and tight like thread on 
a spool. You see the wheel in the 
picture, riding on the cable. The 
men turned it round and round, 
and it guided the wire from the reel 
upon the cable. As they went on with 
the work they gave the wrapping a coat 
of white paint, so that the cables look 
to-day like great white cords. At the 
same time, the men put around the finished cable 
iron clasps or bracelets, to bind the entire structure 
together as firmly as possible. 

These seem like simple things to do. But just 
think of it a little while ! Think of working in 
a little wooden cage swinging and swaying two 
hundred and fifty feet in the air ! The days 
were bleak and cold and the wind blew — oh! 
how it does blow up there sometimes ! Below was 
the black water, perhaps dotted with ragged ice. 
A misstep, and — good-bye. No man would ever 
comeback alive. There was nothing between them 
and death but the wire ropes suspended high 
over the masts of the ships. Steamers passed 
under, and sent up clouds of hot gas in the 
faces of the men. The two cities were spread out 
far below, and the roar of the streets came up 

faint and far away. If the wind blows hard, 
there is no sound save the wind sighing in the 
ropes and the , , 

faint blast of 
the steam-whis- 
tles. At such 
times, the cities 
below seemed 
to be dumb 
The boats 
sail and 
men in 
t h e 
m v e 


black dots, 
in solemn 
silence. The 
world seems very big. 
There is the sea all along 
the southern horizon beyond 
Brooklyn. To the north and 
east the hills of Long Island 
make a dim and wavy line 
on the horizon, and to 
west is the Hudson River and 
the blue Orange mountains beyond. 
The view is magnificent, but it is a 
bad place to work — cold, bleak, and 
dangerous, and it was a good thing 
when the very last ring had been put on the great 
white cables, and the men came down from the 
dizzy height. 

The next thing to be done was to hang from 
each ring on the cables a heavy steel rope. These 
were called suspenders, and they are to hold up 
the floor on which the men and horses pass over 
the bridge. It took a great deal of time and hard 
work to hang these suspenders, — for of course 
there were a vast number of them. — and then came 
the next great task. 

The endless wire rope to the top ot the towers 
was still in use, and by its aid the wrought-iron 
beams were hoisted to the foot of the arches ; then 
one by one they were fastened to the suspend- 
ers and hung in the air. As soon as a few beams 
were suspended, a railroad was laid on the beams 




from the arches out over the river, and on this ran 
a car, to carry the beams to the places where they 
were to be hung, the railroad growing as fast as 
the beams were laid. 

It was a strange place where the great beams 
hung in the air, above the ships and houses. It 
was easy to walk along the planks, but it was dizzy 
work, for you seemed to be standing in the air or 
on a floating cloud. 

When the last beam was put in place, the struct- 
ure began to look like a bridge. The high foot- 
bridge from the top of the towers was taken down, 
and there it stood — tall gray towers, slender white 
cables, and spider-web wires, holding up the black 
floor that at a distance looked like a snake caught 
in a web, and reaching from shore to shore. 


Still the bridge was far from finished. The 
beams must be firmly fastened together, and there 
must be braces to keep it from swaying in the 
wind. There must be railings, to keep horses 

from walking overboard, and foot-paths for the 
people. To accommodate every one, the bridge 
was divided into five parts. On each side, next 
the edge, are the carriage roads for teams and 
carriages. Inside of these roads are the railroads, 
and in the middle, between the tracks and raised 
above the cars, is the broad foot-path. This will 
give the people a high, wide sidewalk, raised 
above the dust of the road and safe from the cars, 
where the view will be open over the river. At 
the same time, there will be no danger that vent- 
uresome boys will fall off by climbing over the 
railing. If they should get over the rail, there is the 
railroad track and the carriage road to be crossed be- 
fore you reach the edge of the bridge. And a glo- 
rious walk it will be, from shore to shore, up the long 
incline, over the house-tops, under 
the arches that are like cathedral 
windows, out over the blue waters, 
and through the pure fresh air. 
Pedestrians will be sure to stop half- 
way oyer, if it is for nothing more 
than to catch, the breath of the sea 
or the fragrant breeze from the Long 
Island farms. What a relief it will 
be from the ill-smelling streets and 
stuffy shops ! What a happy escape 
from those dreadful cabins on the 
ferry-boats ! What a grand place 
to stretch your legs cf a bright win- 
ter's day after toiling through the 
streets ! To go from shore to shore 
in one straight and jolly tramp, 
with the sky for a roof and the 
breeze for good company. 

In San Francisco, Chicago, and 
Philadelphia are curious railroads 
called " cable roads." Under the 
street, between the tracks, is a hol- 
low tube, and in this tube runs an 
endless wire rope, always traveling 
swiftly. Just above the rope is 
a narrow slit in the pavement, and 
down through this slit passes a 
curious bit of machinery like a pair 
of tongs, which is fastened to the car 
on the rails. It clutches the rope, 
and so the car is dragged swiftly 
along by the moving cable. Here 
on the bridge is the same kind of 
railroad. An endless cable stretches 
over the entire bridge and round a 
bier drum under the arches on the 
Brooklyn side. An engine turns the drum, and this 
makes the rope run swiftly. The cars, as in the 
street roads, hitch on to this rope when they wish to 
go over, and are quickly drawn across the bridge. 



Look once more at the diagrams showing the cars to cross over the top or deck. For this rea- 
pile bridge, the arched bridge, and the iron-box son they call this style of bridge a deck bridge. 

bridge. All 

these styles of 

bridges are to be found 

in one shape or another in this 
bridge. The suspended part of the bridge 
begins and ends at the anchorages. To get to 
the top of the anchorages there are long in- 
clined planes, called the approaches. These are 
of brick and stone, in the form of an arched 
bridge. And such grand arches ! Why, you could 
tuck a barn or a three-story house right under 
one of these arches, and the people inside would 
think they lived under a brick sky. The picture 
admirably shows the incline plane, the arches, 
and the place where the bridge flies over the 
elevated railroad. 

The picture on the next page gives an idea of the 
masonry of the great bridge. The roadway is on 
top, and some of these arches stretch over the 
streets. Some of them will also be closed up, and 
used for warehouses by putting up a partition, 
with doors and windows in front. Thus, in this 
part of the work, we have the arched bridge. At 
one point in the Brooklyn approach, there is a 
place where you can see the style of bridge where 
the roadway is supported on posts. At another 
place in Brooklyn you can also see the box 
style, or something very like it. There is really 
no box, but still the work is founded on that 
idea. Plates of iron are riveted together so as 
to form, as it were, great flat boards. These 
are set up on edge and fastened together, and, if 
you stand in the street below and look up at them, 
you will see that the bridge is a kind of box, open 
below, and with a place for the men, horses, and 


At Frank- 
lin Square, 
in New York, 
is still another 
kind of bridge, 
• that flies in one 
grand leap 
right over the side street and the elevated railroad, 
tracks, station, and all. This is a most curious 
piece of work. At the top is a massive iron beam, 
formed of iron plates riveted together like a long, 
narrow box. On the under side is a series of iron 
rods, placed side by side, and the two parts are 
joined together by a net-work of iron beams. 
This is a modern style of bridge, invented since 
the time railroads were first used. It is quite as 
interesting as any part of the work, for, while it 
looks so light and "spidery" for the great weight 
it has to carry, it is nearly as strong as if made of 
solid iron. 

The method adopted for building these iron 
bridges over the streets was strange enough. A 
wooden bridge was built first, and the different 
parts of the iron work were carried up and put 
together on top. When the last piece was put in. 
the wooden bridge was knocked away, and there 
the iron work stood, light and frail in appearance, 

6 9 8 



yet so strong that it will endure for long years after 
we shall have gone to another country. 

One of the most curious things about the bridge 
is the fact that it never stands still. On a warm 
day in summer it is three feet lower than on a 
cold night in winter. But the odd thing about it 
is that the bridge is not touched or apparently 
changed. The hot sun in July heats the cables, 
and they expand and stretch, letting the 
bridge sink down in the center, 
the thermometer falls on bitter 
uary nights, the cables shrink anc 
shrink, and the center rises until 
it is three feet higher above the 
water than in summer. A les- 
ser change of this kind - f~\J 

place ev- 
ery day 
out the 
year, the 
ing at 
night or 
during a 
cold rain, 


and stretching and sinking in the warm sunshine. 
The pictures on page 68S give a good idea of the 
size of the great bridge. The view over the house- 
tops shows the grand flying leap the bridge seems 
to take over the cities and the river. The view 
from the Fulton ferry-house is one of the best, as 
it shows the beautiful curve of the roadway be- 
tween the arches. As you walk over the bridge, 
the cables and the suspenders make fantastic cob- 
webs against the sky that change at every step. 

Note the perspective between the cables, and the 
complicated net-work of crossing lines seen from the 
promenade. Even the railroad track shows the 
strangest vistas between the iron-work, the cables, 
and the suspenders. The latter hang down straight 
from the cables, but there are also diagonal lines 
or stays that cross the suspenders, as you will see 
in the circular picture at the left on page 688. 
The insects in the cobweb are men at 
work painting the wires. 

This whole work, bridge, ap- 
proaches, anchorages, rail- 
roads, depots, and all, cost 
sixteen million dollars in 
money and thirteen years 
of time. What is the 
grand result ? Is it worth 
all this ? How many peo- 
ple can use it in a day? 
Let us see. On the ap- 
proaches the bridge is one 
hundred feet wide. On the 
suspended part it is eighty-five 
feet wide. This gives room 
enough for two lines of teams on each 
way, or four in all. All the teams going 
in one direction take the right-hand road, 
the heavy teams on the outside, and the lighter 
ones on the inside. The two roads will allow one 
thousand four hundred and forty teams to pass in 
an hour, or fourteen thousand four hundred and 
forty in ten hours. There will be eighty cars on 
the railroad, and twenty cars can travel on the 
bridge at once. When all are running, eighty 
thousand people can cross in an hour. The grand 
promenade will hold ten thousand people at one 
time, and forty-five thousand people can cross on 
foot in an hour. The total length of the walk is 
five thousand nine hundred and eighty feet (nearly 
a mile and a quarter), and of this one thousand 
five hundred and seventy-five feet are included in 
the span above the river. 

It is only a bridge, but should you ever come to 
New York, you must take pains to see it. Walk 
over it and all about it. Cross in the ferries, and 
look up at it from below. Take your St. NICHO- 
LAS with you, and study it out with the help of the 
pictures. It will show you that every great work 
has a meaning. It will help you to see that 
everywhere in the world men spend their labor 
on buildings and structures that are for the bene- 
fit of all the people. It will show you that there 
is nothing more honorable than work, nothing 
more admirable than skill, patience, courage, and 



One of New York's oldest citizens 
has favored St. Nicholas with the 
following account of a single-span 
bridge which was proposed for the 
East River many years ago : 

Perhaps few, if any, of my young 
readers are aware that any attempt 
was ever made to bridge the East 
River from New York to Brooklyn 
before the present great structure was 
begun. Yet a plan for bridging the 
river was made and published as 
early as 181 1 by a Mr. Thomas Pope, 
an architect, then residing in Canal 
street, New York, a short distance 
east of Broadway. (Broadway was 
not then paved above Canal street, 
and a stone bridge then crossed the 
stream that ran through that street 
to the North River. In front of Mr. 
Pope's house were green fields, bor- 
dering the canal. ) 

Thomas Pope's specialty was bridge 
building. He proposed to put one 
across the river on the line of the 
present Fulton Ferry boats — name- 
ly, from Fulton street, New York, to 
Fulton street, Brooklyn — a bridge of 
a single span, sufficiently high for the 
largest sailing vessels to pass under. 
Mr. Pope made a model of his bridge, 
published a book with an engraving of 
it, and solicited aid to enable him to 
fulfill his project. Had he succeeded, 
New York long ago would have 
had a bridge-way to Brooklyn. But 
the enthusiastic engineer was doomed 
to disappointment. Not only was 
aid denied, but he was assailed with 
ridicule. No man in his senses, they 
said, would seriously propose to 
bridge that river, though, doubtless, 
if such a thing could be done, it 
would tend to make Brooklyn build- 
ing-lots quite valuable. 

I was a playmate with Mr. Pope's 
children, saw him often, and have 
heard many pretty anecdotes of him 
and his bridge. It is said that he, 
in company with Robert Fulton, the 
inventor of the steam-boat, and a 
number of other distinguished New- 
Yorkers, on a certain day made a 
trip around the city in one of the 
new steam-boats. The afternoon was 




showery, and just as the boat rounded Castle 
Garden the rain ceased, and there was seen a 
rainbow spanning the East River. "See there !" 
says Fulton, tapping Pope on the shoulder, 
"there's your bridge, Pope. Heaven favors you 
with a good omen." 

The bridge was not built, and the model was 
probably destroyed — just how, I do not remember, 
though I was intimate with the family. One ac- 
count, however, says that a company of gentlemen, 
including Governor De Witt Clinton, had assem- 
bled at Pope's house to view the model of his bridge 
and see its supporting power tested, for which 
purpose the model had been set up in the wild, 
half-cultivated meadows in front of Pope's house, 
though at some distance from it. While they were 

examining the structure, a heavy shower came up. 
They ran for - shelter to Pope's house, where from 
the windows they could still see the model. Sud- 
denly there was a terrific flash, followed by a 
heavy crash of thunder which startled all. A mo- 
ment later, the bridge-model was discovered to be in 
ruins — hardly two pieces together. The bolt had 
entirely destroyed it. And Pope's hopes died out 
with it. 

One of his daughters is yet living in Brooklyn, 
and, through her courtesy, I own a copy of the book 
already alluded to, which her father wrote and pub- 
lished concerning his proposed bridge. 

The engraving which St. NICHOLAS here shows 
you is a fac-simile-of the frontispiece cf that book, 
a volume which is now very rare. 


By Susan Hartley Swett. 

O Blue Jay up in the maple tree, 

Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee, 

How did you happen to be so blue ? 

Did you steal a bit of the lake for your crest, 
And fasten blue violets into your vest? 

Tell me, I pray you, — tell me true ! 

Did you dip your wings in azure dye, 

When April began to paint the sky, 
That was pale with the winter's stay ? 

Or were you hatched .from a bluebell bright, 

'Neath the warm, gold breast of a sunbeam light, 
By the river one blue spring day ? 

Blue Jay up in the maple tree, 
A-tossing your saucy head at me, 

With ne'er a word for my questioning, 

Pray, cease for a moment your " ting-a-link," 
And hear when I tell you what 1 think,— 

You bonniest bit of the spring. 

1 think when the fairies made the flowers, 
To grow in these merry fields of ours, 

Periwinkles and violets rare. 

There was left of the spring's own color, blue, 

Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue 
Would be richer than all and as fair. 

So putting their wits together, they 

Made one great blossom so bright and gay, 
The lily beside it seemed blurred, 

And then they said: "We will toss it in air; 

So many blue blossoms grow everywhere, 
Let this pretty one be a bird ! " 

i88 3 .| 





Boys and girls can be taught to do many kinds 
of work which are generally supposed to be quite 
beyond their power. It is very common to hear 
the remark : " I have no gift for drawing ; none of 
my children have any talent in that way ; it would 
be time lost for us to try to learn." But the truth 
is that there is no person who can not in a few 
weeks or months learn to design decorative art pat- 
terns very well, and when this is learned it is easy to 

write. To repousscr, or emboss, or chase (for the 
process is called by all these names) sheet brass is 
supposed by many to be very difficult. I am often 
asked of it, as of wood-carving, if it does not 
require a great deal of strength and much exertion. 
The fact is, that in learning both the one and the 
other, those who make no great effort are the most 



master any kind of drawing. There are very few 
who have any '■ natural gift " for art. Among five 
hundred pupils of all ages, 1 have found only one 
who had, or seemed to have, a genius for it. But, 
then, of the five hundred there was not one who 
could not or did not learn to design, model, carve, 
embroider, or work in sheet brass. 

It is of this latter minor art that I propose to 

successful. A child 
has quite strength 
a sheet of brass or 
culty of the work 
being tiresome. Ii 
ing, even less weari- 
because a girl who is 
work can rest, her 


of six or eight years 
enough to emboss 
copper. The diffi- 
does not lie in its 
is, physically speak- 
some than sewing, 
engaged in brass- 
arms while hammer- 
ing. I will explain the process, and render this clear. 
Sheet brass is made in about forty different 
degrees of thickness, which are numbered. Thus, 
eighth brass is less than the eighth of an inch 
in thickness. The thinnest is not thicker than 
writing paper. If you take a piece of any of the 






thinner kinds, you can indent it deeply with a 
common pointed stick or even with your thumb- 
nail. Of course, if you draw a pattern on this 
with a hard point, and then beat down the ground 
or the space between the edges of the pattern, 
your picture will stand up in low relief. To do this 
well, it is more important not to hit too hard 
than to make great exertion. 

There are two ways of working sheet brass, 
both of which I will describe. One is to hammer 
the face alone ; the other consists in turning the 
sheet around and beating the pattern out from 
behind. This is the true rcpousser, or embossing. 

As the first is the easier and the one by which 
my pupils all begin, I will explain it distinctly 
before setting forth the other. You have, let us 
say, a piece of sheet brass. Let it be of No. 25. 
That is the best thickness for a beginner. Then 
take a board an inch thick, and screw the brass 
on it with small screws, set as near the edge as 
possible. Now you must have two tools, the one 
a tracer, and the other a mat. They are made of 
steel, and look like large nails without heads. The 
tracer has an edge like that of a very dull knife ; in 
fact, it very much resembles a screw-driver. The 
end of the mat is flat, and is either simply rough- 
ened, or else crossed with very fine lines like a 
seal. The object of the tracer is to mark out the 
lines of the edge of a pattern ; that of the mat is 
to beat in, and at the same time to roughen, the 
background. Thus, if the pattern is smooth and 
in relief while the ground is sunk and irregular, 
there will be a contrast of light and shade. An 
ingenious person will always contrive to obtain 
tools or make them. I have known a lady who, 
with only a spike nail, filed across the end, and a 
screw-driver, chased a plaque admirably. 

Having screwed a piece of brass down on the 
board, the pupil may take a lead-pencil and ruler 


and draw on it as many parallel lines as he can, 
about an eighth of an inch apart. 

Then let him take the tracer in his left hand, and 
in his right a small hammer with a broad head, 
like a shoe-maker's hammer, only much smaller. 
This is a chasing hammer, made for the purpose. 

Now, resting the edge 
of the tracer on aline, 
move it along, and, 
as you move, keep 
tapping the upper 
end with the ham- 
mer. Continue to do 
this until you can 
make a perfect un- 
broken line. Do not 
strike too hard. A 
mere tap-tap will an- 
swer the purpose. 
After you can make 
such a marked 
straight line, then 
draw curves, as in- 
dicated by the curved 
lines in the preced- 
ing column, and work 
them out in the same 

When you can 
trace lines perfectly, 
and not till then, you 
should begin work. 
I will suppose that 
you want a finger- 
plate for a door, or a 
piece three inches by 
nine or twelve, which 
may serve for a hang- 
ing candlestick, or perhaps as one side of a 

Here is such a pattern. There is an object in 
making in this pattern so many round objects, such 
as apples and grapes. Every one of these, in brass, 
will be a shining ball. In all ordinary work, it is 
advisable to avoid patterns which have inside lines, 
such as scales on fishes, hair, etc. Do not attempt 
any fine work, or picture-making. Decorative art 
should be looked at from a distance. Most pupils 
want to begin with designs full of minute details. 
They do not realize that broad and simple designs 
are the most elegant. No one, indeed, should at- 
tempt to work in brass who can not design pat- 
terns. Those who beg or buy them always bungle. 
To aid my scholars, I have found it necessary to 
write a manual of decorative design, and one on 
sheet-brass work, which have been published. 
From these the intelligent student may readily 
learn to draw the simple designs suited to such 





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When the pattern is traced or outlined so. that 
not a break or dot can be seen in it, the pupil 
takes the mat and indents the background. No 
great care is necessary for this in certain grounds. 
It may be done roughly or more evenly. There 
are different kinds of both mats and tracers, as 
well as punches for making circles and rounded 
holes, etc. I have known a professional chaser to 
have nearly two thousand. The tools of best 
quality cost thirty cents apiece. It is well to buy 
from two (which is the least number sold) to six, 
eight, 01 ten.* 


After matting the ground, you next go over the 
edges with the tracer again, or with a border tool, 
which is a tracer with the edges made like a very 
fine saw. Do not be in a hurry, as too many people 
are, to make a fine piece of work to show as your 
first effort. It is generally the ignorant who lay 
great stress on the first attempts in art. I have 
known scores of people to lose months of work by 
trying to make show pieces, instead of learning Iww 
to make them. 

In the Philadelphia school there are boys and 
girls, from twelve to fifteen or sixteen years of age, 
who can design patterns, carve wood panels, model 
large and beautiful vases covered with flowers or 
grotesque figures, and execute sheet-brass work. 
I have not found their work in any respect inferior to 
that of adults who had studied art for the same time. 
And the different arts are so easy that within a few 
months many pupils can master several of them. 

The kind of repottsser which I have described 
is called cold hammering on wood. A more ad- 
vanced process is hammering on pitch, during 
which the metal is heated from time to time to 
make it soft. By this means a higher relief can be 
given to the figures. 

The way in which this is effected is as follows : 
A composition is made of Burgundy pitch, which 
is melted in a tin skillet, and when fluid is mingled 
with brick-dust and powdered plaster of Paris, in 
proportions varying with the hardness required 
and the time of year. When all is well stirred and 
mingled, the composition is poured into a bucket 

of cold water, and worked by hand into cakes. 
When needed for use, these cakes are melted and 
spread in a coat half an inch thick on the board. 
This process is technically known as "foxing." 
When the brass is screwed down on this, of course 
it yields more than wood, and allows a deeper relief 
to be made. 

Hammering the brass hardens it, and the higher 
the relief the thinner and harder it gets, and the 
more liable to crack or split it becomes. There- 
fore, it is placed from time to time on a fire or gas- 
jet, to soften it. This process is called anneal- 
ing. It requires some little practice and judgment 
to anneal well. If after cold hammering on wood 
any cracks are found in the work, they may be 
soldered. This is readily done by the tinsmith 
who makes up the work. That is, after making, 
let us say, a plate sixteen inches in diameter in a 
square piece, you send it to a tinman, who will 
cut it round for you, turn the edge over a wire, 
and solder a ring on the back by which to hang it 
up. This he should do for from eighteen to twenty- 
five' cents. Any other repousse?- can be made up in 
like manner. All small brass articles that are to be 
handled require it, just as do those made from tin. 
Beginners should not think of using the pitch- 
bed, or annealing brass until they can work it 
cold on wood. Brass costs at retail from thirty-five 
to forty cents a pound; the tools, with a hammer 
and board and screws, less than two dollars. Of 
course, as the young artist advances, he will need 
more mats and tracers. 

Now, it will be worth while to consider what 
objects may be made of sheet brass. A plaque or 

a round plate is 
easily made, and 
may be used as a 
platter on which 
to serve fruit. 
Or you can make 
a square plate, 
which, according 
to its size, may be 
set either in a cabinet, in a box, in the back of 
a chair, a clock, a sofa, or anywhere that a flat 
and ornamented surface is needed. Again, a square 
piece of ornamented sheet brass can be made by any 
smith into a cylindrical cup, which would look well 
anywhere. Boxes of sheet brass are well adapted 
to hold wooden boxes of flowers, and outer cases 
for flower-pots are quite effective. The sheet for a 
flower-pot crver is of the shape shown above. It 
will also, if made narrower, serve for a tankard or 
cannon-shaped goblet or can. A square piece, with 
the sides sloped or cut away, will "makeup" into a 
coal-scuttle. Narrow strips can be set in picture- 


* The name of the publisher of Mr. Leland's manuals, and the address of an experienced dealer in tools for brass-work, 
wdl be furnished by St. Nicholas, upon application. 




frames. Quivers are useful to hold canes and para- that time there are no other classes in the building 

sols. A very common and very pretty object is a to be disturbed. 

brass-covered pair of bellows. Cups can be bought It is a very natural question for every one to 

ready made of brass. These can be filled with the ask : " How can I sell my work when it is done ? 

pitch-cement, and worked on the outside. Who will buy it ? " For many months, I have been 


c i 


The din which is made by a dozen boys and in the daily receipt of letters from every corner of 

girls hammering sheet brass all at once together our country, asking me where the writers can sell 

is appalling. Therefore, in our school, Saturday their manufactures. People who have never seen 

afternoon is set apart specially for this work. At a piece of brass work, but who have heard about 

■88 3 .J 



it, " think they would like to learn if it would 
pay," and write to know if 1 will find them pur- 
chasers. This is very much as if one should ask 
an artist who buys his pictures, or a grocer how to 
sell sugar. If anybody living could tell exactly 
where anything could be sold, half the world would 
at once rush to sell. I have had many pupils 
who have sold their brass work, and some who 
have made a great deal of money by it, but I do 
not believe that even they could help any one else 
to sell. As I see their plaques and panels about 
town in shops, I know that they find dealers to 
dispose of them. 

But, after all, the main object of learning to 
work in metal, or wood, or clay should not be 
to at once make money but to learn to use the 
hands and brains. The boy or girl who learns to 
design patterns, and work them out, is not only 
prepared by so doing for some more serious occu- 

pation, but also becomes cleverer intellectually. 
If we take two boys or girls of the same age and 
of the same brain power, and give them the same 
book-studies, but allow one to occupy part of his 
leisure in learning to draw and work brass, while 
the other spends an equal amount of time in aim- 
less amusement, it will be found, at the end of a 
year or two, that the former is by far the cleverer 
of the two. There is no doubt that such pursuits, 
while they are as interesting as any play, also 
improve the mind. 

I suppose that, among the thousands who will 
read this article, there will be many who will like 
to learn to design patterns for brass work and then 
to execute them in the metal. Those who in- 
tend to do so will find that it will save much 
expense, and that they will advance far more 
rapidly, should they form a club, association, or 
school for the purpose. 


By C. M. St. Denys. 

Can not girls raise silk as well as boys ? 

" Yes, belter," says a girl who ought to know, 
for she has been raising silk herself for two years. 
"Of course, boys can feed the worms as well as 
girls ; but when it comes to handling the delicate 
fibers, for reeling or other purposes, the girls have 
the advantage, because their fingers are more deli- 
cate. But most girls would rather embroider or 
paint on silk than raise it. I tell you, they don't 
know how interesting silk-raising is. I 've been at 
it two years, and it grows more and more interest- 
ing to me every day." 

This particular girl has a brisk step, and such 
bright eyes, clear complexion, and rosy cheeks as 
would set you wondering if she had not washed 
her face in May dew. 

It seems she began raising silk when she was 
thirteen years old. At that time she was very 
fond of reading, and spent so much time poring 
over her books that her eyes were in danger of 
being injured. Her father, to prevent this, sought 
to occupy her with silk-worms ; and now she has 
become so interested in silk that she devotes all 
her time to the subject. 

As her family lived in the heart of the city, where 
there were no mulberry trees, she and her father 
used to start out at four o'clock every morning in 
the feeding-season and walk to the park, to gather 
fresh leaves for her worms. 

This little girl's father helped her very kindly. 

VOL. X. — 4-5* 'See St. Nicholas 

He made frames for her to cover with nets 
for her feeding-trays ; and, after awhile, actually- 
moved to a house nearer the park, so that she 
would not have so far to go for the mulberry 
leaves. So now they have only a mile to go, and 
need not start on their morning walk till about 
five o'clock. "To be sure, one runs the risk of 
malaria by such habits," she owned; "but then 
we always eat something before we start, which 
greatly lessens the danger." 

The young silk-raiser has her room full of curiosi- 
ties connected with the silk industry. It is inter- 
esting to note the difference between the boys' 
silk-room and this one. The boys' place looks 
like a real work-room, without much attempt at 
ornament. The girl's, on the contrary, looks like 
a little parlor with her collection of silk products 
tastefully arranged on the mantel, on tables, and 
in glass cases. The walls are hung with painted 
silk screens, with photographs of patrons of the 
silk cause, and letters of distinguished people who 
have been interested in her work. There is no 
reason why a boy's room should not look as neat 
and pretty as a girl's, and it is very seldom that 
girls devote too much attention to the ornamental, 
and not enough to the useful. 

"All these things were sent as presents.'' said 
the young silk-raiser. " You see, 1 have orders 
for silk-worms' eggs constantly coming in from all 
parts of the country, so I have a great deal of cor- 

for June, page 630. 





respondence, and I make a great many friends 
that I never could have made in any other way. 
They send me these things either as gifts or in 

There was a box of cocoons of wild silk, spun by 
the oak-feeding worms of the north of China, of 
which pongee is made, the light brown color char- 
acteristic of this goods being observable in the 
cocoon. Beside it lay an oak-leaf from the park, to 
which clung a cocoon spun by one of our native 
silk-moths. There were jars of cocoons raised by 
a boy of eight years, and by girls of thirteen and 
fourteen. There was a silk fishing-line of a pretty 
ultramarine tint, twisted so tight and smooth 
that it seemed almost as stiff and elastic as fine 
steel wire. 

•'That was made by a Georgia lady from silk 
produced by eggs I sent her," explained our in- 
formant. " She makes silk fishing-lines, for sale, 
and supplies all the men and boys in her neigh- 

" This satin book-marker," she continued, " with 
the bunch of violets painted on it, was sent to me 
by a girl in the neighborhood ; and this little 
screen was painted for me by an Ohio girl who is 
nearly blind. I value it all the more for that; but 
a person with good eyesight need not have been 
ashamed of it. But just look at these Chinese 
gauze screens, covered with hand-painted flowers. 
If that work had been done in this country it would 
have cost an immense sum, but we can import 
them at a very low price. That little model of a 
reel worked by Chinese figures was sent to me 
from a fair, and these cotton pods, closed and 
open, with the snowy cotton bursting out, were 
sent from Louisiana. 

" Here is something I value highly — two bits of 
ribbon, labeled, ' Economy, Pa., 1S32.' So, you 
see, as long ago as that, German emigrants made 
silk in this country. It is very hard to get a piece 
of this rare silk." 

So she went on showing one interesting thing 
after another. There were specimens of silk in 
almost ever)' form — loose, reeled, spun, twisted, 
woven, embroidered, cases of gay sewing-silk, 
wreaths of flowers of silk thread stretched on wires, 
and hanks of silk that looked like lovely silver-gray 
hair. Over the cases hung a placard with the 
words, " See what a worm can do." And I thought 
to myself that it might have said just as truthfully, 
" See what a girl can do." 

One of the most striking objects in the room was 
a tall stand on which were displayed long, flowing 
bunches of silk of all the natural tints, from cream 
color to a bright yellow, which looked like the 
treasured tresses, flaxen or sunny gold, of so many 
fair maidens. 

But the most valued treasures of this silk-en- 
thusiast are displayed on the walls. Conspicuous 
among them is a note of thanks from Miss Mollie 
Garfield, saying: "Both my mamma and I are 
much interested in the cocoons and other speci- 
mens you sent us. We think you must be a very 
enterprising girl." 

There, too, hangs her diploma, awarded by the 
State Agricultural Fair. 

" I value that more than any money prize," she 
said, '' for I can keep it always to show. I sup- 
pose it was given to me because I was so young 
more than for any other reason, fori had just 
begun silk-raising then and had n't much to show 
— just some eggs and cocoons in a little frame. 
Here is the very jar of silk I sent, labeled, ' Silk 
raised and reeled on her fingers by a little girl 
thirteen and a half years old.' I think I would go 
through fire and water to save that diploma. I 
have a fine reel now that was made in Philadelphia 
and given to me. There it stands in the corner. 
I had the water-pan made by a tinman and fitted 
on this old sewing-machine stand. When I use it, 
I set a lamp under the pan to heat the water. But 
1 don't reel very much, only in the winter, because 
I keep most of my cocoons for eggs." 

" Where do you feed your worms in the rearing 
season ? " we asked. 

"Right here in this room," she replied. "But 
as they grow we have to spread them out over 
three rooms, though our frames are five stories 
high — that is, there are five tiers of trays. I raise 
so many worms now that my father and two brothers 
have to help me carry home leaves for them every 
morning, and sometimes the boys have to go again 
in the evening. But it is only for a few days that 
the worms eat so much." 

"It seems strange that there are not a great 
many other girls interested in silk as you are," we 

" Yes, it does," said she. " I suppose there are 
some in different parts of the country. But in the 
city it is not easy to get mulberry leaves ; and city 
girls who have to earn their living seem to prefer 
working in factories or stores to taking the trouble 
to help themselves by silk-raising. Now, I like it so 
much I would n't change it ior any other employ- 
ment. There is so much variety in it — so much 
that is interesting to learn about it ; though it 
does n't take very much knowledge to raise silk. 
I 've put all the necessary information in my in- 
struction book. Have n't you seen it ? It is in 
the third edition now." 

Last year, a lame girl 1 know, who lives with her 
mother in a country village where there are a few 
mulberry-trees growing near the house, thought 
she would try raising silk. So she bought a dol- 

.88 3 . 



lar's worth of eggs and a little instruction book, and 
began with her trays spread on the sitting-room 
table. At first, it was nothing but fun to watch 
the queer little brown things feeding. But they 
soon grew so large and ate so much that she was 
obliged to spread them out more and more, till 
they occupied two or three rooms instead of one 
table, and it kept the little lame girl and her 
mother both busy gathering leaves to satisfy their 

But, by the end of six weeks, they had all done 
feeding and spun their little silken covers and gone 
to sleep. The lame girl had a fine lot of cocoons. 

which she sold for twenty-seven dollars, and felt 
that she was well paid for her trouble. Besides, 
she got honorable mention at the grand silk fair 
at St. George's Hall, which was something to be 
proud of. So she bought four dollars' worth of 
eggs for the next season, hoping to make four 
times as much money. 

I wish more girls would try silk-raising. I think 
you would enjoy it, girls. If it is not practicable 
for you to belong to a silk association, you can 
raise silk just as well by yourselves. But I should 
like to hear of a Girls' Silk-Culture Club ready 
to begin work next season. 


By John R. Coryell. 

Most of the many boys and girls who already 
own or who intend to own silk-worms will be glad 
to know of a way by which the silk-spinning powers 
of the little creature may be turned to account so 
as to produce immediate results. 

The formation of the cocoon, the reeling of the 
raw silk, and the final weaving into the finished 
sheet of silk are not only processes requiring con- 
siderable time and skill, but are, all of them, usually 
carried on without the assistance of the young 
silk-raiser. Or even if he reel off the silk from the 
cocoon himself, he will be little likely to attempt 
weaving it into cloth. 

There is a way of contriving, however, so that 
the silk-worm will itself save you the time of its 
own house-building and spare you the trouble of 
reeling and weaving. It can, in fact, be made to 
produce for you, under your own supervision, a piece 
of beautiful, golden silk. Nor is this all : it will 
even shape the silk and fasten it to a fan, a tam- 
bourine, or to any other similar frame ; provided, 
of course, that the silk-yielding capacity of the 
worm be not overtaxed. 

The method of accomplishing this result is a 
very simple one, though, like many other simple 
things, it is not commonly known. Very many 
Chinese ladies, however, know it, and make use of 
it to divert the weary hours they usually spend in 

When the worm is full-grown, and has filled its 
reservoir with the silk-making material, it is ready 
to build its house or cocoon. This you must not 

permit it to do. It must instead be placed on a 
common Japanese fan, of the battledore or lawn- 
tennis bat shape. 

Nature tells the worm that it must spin — spin 
a cocoon if possible, but spin anyhow. If permitted 
to have its own way, it will build on the flat surface 
of the fan ; but if prevented, it will wander from side 
to side of the little platform, spinning all the while 
its wonderful silken thread, fastening it at the 
edges, and in the end covering the whole surface 
with a closely woven golden web almost as tough as 

In relating this fact, however, we must, at the 
same time, impress upon the young silk-culturist 
that, if he tries this experiment, it had better be 
with only two or three worms, and that it would 
be wrong and cruel -to divert many of the little 
creatures from their proper work of cocoon-mak- 
ing, for the sake of the ornamental fan-covers they 
might be made to supply. Though the result is, 
of course, interesting, it is decidedly not for this 
purpose that you are supposed to keep silk-worms. 





By H. H. Ballard. 

The next annual convention of the National 
Amateur Press Association is to be held in New- 
York City, in July. These gatherings of enthusi- 
astic journalists attract more and more attention, 
and serve to make known in widening circles the . 
character and purposes of the N. A. P. A. Some 
notion of what the coming meeting will be may be 
gained perhaps by a glance at the members com- 
posing last year's convention as they were assem- 
bled in the New Era Hall, of Detroit, Michigan, on 
July 14th, 1S82. Our cut is engraved from a photo- 
graph taken at that time. Although the photo- 
graph is unfortunately indistinct, it is evident that 
it represents a group of thoughtful boys and young 
men, who believe in their "cause," and who are 
ready to work for it. 

The convention gave promise of much good for 
the Association, and, looking back over the history 
of the year, we can see that the promise has been 
fulfilled. The ranks of the society have been ex- 
tended ; many new papers have been started ; the 
wings of the older ones have grown stronger for 
flight, and the general character of the papers has 
been raised. We note with pleasure a more manly 
ring in editorials, a fairer tone in critical reviews, 
a growing freedom from personalities, as well as 
higher order of literary work and better mechan- 
ical execution. 

Reports of the Detroit meeting from several wide- 
ly separated sources show that it was, on the whole, 
one of the most harmonious and satisfactory ever 
held. We have read, with considerable interest, de- 
tailed accoifnts of the political campaigns which 
preceded the convention, and have traced through 
bulky files of amateur journals the inception and de- 
velopment of the several parties there represented 
— all of which study has strengthened the belief 
expressed in a former article, that amateur elections 
are conducted with fairness and good nature, and 
that candidates are nominated mainly from confi- 
dence in their ability, and elected by honorable and 
manly methods of voting. The history of a cam- 
paign is something like this : Soon after an annual 
election (if not long before !) some bright, and dis- 
tant-future-scanning editor, with a taste for wield- 
ing pen-power, runs carefully over his exchanges, 
and makes a mental estimate of his contemporaries. 

(And very much can be learned of an amateur 
editor from a single number of his paper. Is its 
general appearance attractive ? Is its face clean ? 
Are its hands washed ? Are its eyes wide open ? 

Can if hit heavy and honest blows ? Is it truthful, 
modest, pure, sensible, bright ?) 

Having decided from such mental view of many 
papers that Pungent Pepperpot, the editor of the 
Capsicum, is likely to prove a popular and capable 
president, he proceeds to throw among his next 
week's editorials some such tentative remark as 
"Did any gentleman mention Pepperpot for our 
next president?" or to suggest that "Among 
those who were most active in the late campaign, 
none displayed more unselfish enthusiasm, or 
showed more marked ability, than the editor of 
the sprightly and well-written Capsicum." 

Without waiting to see whether this little seed 
will sprout or not, our young politician next sits 
down and writes to a score of brother editors in 
different sections, and asks in varied phrase of each 
whether he has yet made up his mind regarding 
the proper man to fill the presidental chair at the 
expiration of the current year. He gently intimates 
that, if no other name has been proposed, it would 
be an excellent plan to unfurl the flag of Pepperpot. 
These letters dispatched, another must be written 
to no less distinguished a personage than Pungent 
Pepperpot himself, offering to "work" for him from 
date. As soon as three or four favorable responses 
are returned, a committee is organized, consisting 
of members judiciously sprinkled over the several 
points of the mariner's compass. 

The work of the committee is then fully mapped 
out, and a " net- work of correspondence " is carried 
on in all directions. 

A good plan is to have all members of the com- 
mittee concentrate a fusilade of political epistles 
upon a doubtful amateur, so that upon the same 
day he may receive, by a strange coincidence, let- 
ters from Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts, 
all pointing out the critical point in its history upon 
which Amateurdom is now quivering, and demon- 
strating that the only person who can possibly place 
it in a position of permanent perpendicularity is 
Pungent Pepperpot. 

Few can withstand this. Letters begin to flow 
toward the committee, to the following effect : 

" Regarding Pepperpot, I will work for him, and give him all my 
influence. Samuel Scribbler." 

■ I am solid for P. P. 

Wm. Writewe 

" I shall be exceedingly happy to render you any aid that lies in 
my power to bring about the election of Pepperpot. 

"Edward Editson." 

But by this time some other politician has become 
aware of the danger which threatens the Associa- 



tion if it allows the fiery and impetuous Pepperpot 
to gain the highest office in the gift of the N. A. 
P. A., and by substantially similar methods he 
rapidly organizes a boom for Zachary Zero, who 
edits the monthly Icicle. Now the fun begins. As 
kernels of corn over a hot fire, so paper after paper 
pops out in favor of one or the other of the rival 
nominees. Histories of each appear, introduced 
with eye-compelling head-lines, and illustrated 
with portraits or caricatures of the candidates. The 
Pepperpotists ridicule the chill indifference of the 
Zeroites, who in turn criticise the dangerous heat 
and fierce passions of their opponents. " Shall 
Amateurdom bare its back tamely to receive an 
application of capsicum? " " Better that, a thou- 
sand-fold, than to face the fearful fate of freezing 
in an untimely grave," is the undaunted reply. 

As the time for the convention approaches, the 
interest deepens. Other candidates appear, letters 
of acceptance and of declination see the light, noses 
are counted, and estimates of attendance are made. 
The records of the rivals are searched for evidences 
of literary skill, editorial power, political penetra- 
tion, honorable " stands," and general popularity 
on the one side ; and, on the other, for proofs of 
incapacity or plagiarism, of weakness or narrow- 
ness of mind, indirect methods, and general im- 
practicability. Finally, on the eve of the election, 
caucuses are held, speeches made, members button- 
holed, pledges circulated, promises given, and after 
the crisis is over and the photographs paid for, the 
next month is devoted to explaining how, if Pepper- 

pot had not resigned on the very edge of victory, 
and if Zero had only rallied his men with more of 
his rival's ardent but flagging zeal, it never could 
have happened that the hitherto unknown editor 
of the \\ r ayback Waif should have been quietly- 
accepted as a compromise candidate, and triumph- 
antly elected almost by acclamation. 

In concluding this sketch, we wish distinctly to 
state that it is not designed to represent under the 
fiery and frosty appellations of Pepperpot and Zero 
any of the gentlemen who were actually in the field 
during the campaign of 18S2, which reached its 
climax at Detroit ; nor to indicate by the name of 
Wayback Waif the paper of him who was really 
chosen president. In fact, last year it was not a 
"dark horse" that won, but a gentleman who, 
during most of the campaign, was generally felt 
to be the proper one for the place. 

It was our plan to enter somewhat in detail into 
an account of last year's convention ; but as the minor 
incidents of friendly greetings, eager caucuses, and 
ballot-counting are of interest mainly to the actors in 
chief, and as such a course, moreover, would cause us 
to thread our way through an intricate maze of dan- 
gerous personalities, we must content ourselves with 
congratulating the Association on its manly and dig- 
nified representation at Detroit. Those of my read- 
ers who are desirous of a closer acquaintance with 
the workings of the N. A. P. A., or who wish to 
enroll themselves among its members and attend 
the July convention in New York City, should ad- 
dress Mr. F. A. Grant, South Gardner, Mass. 



A S H A K K ST (J R Y 



By John Peck, Jr. (Aged i 5 ). 

Although we Sandersvillc boys had lived all 
our lives within sight of the ocean, yet we did not 
grow tired of the sea, and never were so happy as 
when fishing in its depths, or rowing about over 
its throbbing bosom. 

Almost every pleasant Saturday a party of us 
would charter old sailor Bob's ancient and weather- 
beaten boat, and spend the whole or a part of the 
day in fishing, or in the oft-repeated but ever 
pleasant task of exploring the shores of the bay in 
the vicinity of the village. 

One bright July afternoon, four of us — Dan 
Blockly, George Davis, Benny Temple, and my- 
self — secured the "Dandy" (never was there a 
boat that bore a name more unsuited to its appear- 
ance), and set out for a few hours' enjoyment. 

Rowing over to Rock Island, as a large cluster 
of huge bowlders was called, that showed their 
black heads above their white collars of snowy sea- 
foam, about two miles distant from the village, we 
landed upon them, and rigged our lines. 

Rock Island and its vicinity was noted as a good 
angling ground, and we enjoyed fine sport ; and 
not until the sun began to hide itself behind the 
hills back of the village did we enter our boat. 

As we rowed slowly homeward, we could not 
help admiring the beauty and clearness of the 
waters of the bay, which were as smooth and trans- 
parent as glass. 

" I declare, boys, I must take a swim," said Dan, 
at length. And hastily slipping off his clothes, he 
leaped overboard. " I tell you, fellows, the water 
is just right — neither too warm nor too cold." 

Dan swam round and round the boat, diving, 

*"Sec the Committee' 

swimming on his back, treading, and doing all the 
feats which boys delight in performing, and at last 
darted away at a lively rate, laughingly telling us 
that he would reach the beach before we would. 

We were about to seize the oars and prove to his 
satisfaction that three boys in a boat can travel 
much more rapidly than one boy in the water, 
when Benny Temple called our attention to some- 
thing that was speeding through the water toward 
the swimmer. " What is it?" asked Ben. 

I had not the remotest idea what it was, until 1 
heard George utter an exclamation of astonish- 
ment and fear, and then shout: "Dan! Dan! 
come back here, quick ! There's a shark in sight ! " 

The boy addressed was some distance from the 
boat, but his friend's words came to his ears with 
terrible distinctness. For an instant he remained 
motionless, then turned and struck out for the boat. 

Never have I seen a person swim with more 
speed than Dan exhibited that day. He was an 
excellent swimmer, and, fully comprehending his 
peril, he plowed desperately through the water, 
leaving a trail of foam and bubbles in his wake as 
he strained every muscle to reach the boat. 

As for ourselves, we never thought of the oars, 
but remained motionless in the "Dandy," terror- 
stricken, watching the race. 

Suddenly the shark disappeared beneath the 
surface of the water. Our excitement and anxiety 
were now more intense than before, for we did not 
know how near the voracious monster might be to 
our friend, or at what moment he might be crushed 
in the jaws of the huge and blood-thirsty fish. 

Nearer and nearer came Dan, and at last he 

Report, page 713. 


1 I 

grasped the side of the boat, and in a moment 
more was pulled on board. 

Scarcely had he been drawn from the water, 
when the shark appeared at the side of our craft ; 
but his prey had escaped him. For a moment he 
regarded us intently with his cunning, wicked- 
looking eyes, then swam slowly around the boat 
and disappeared 

It was one of the species of white sharks, or man- 
eaters, which are found in all seas. They swim 

very rapidly, and usually near the surface of the 
water. This one, though scarcely twenty feet 
long, appeared a very monster to us. Its body 
was white below, gradually fading to a light brown 
above. Its mouth, as is usual in fish of this 
species, was on the under-side of its head, and was 
set with two rows of sharp, ugly-looking teeth. 

It was a fearful and repulsive thing to look at, 
and I dare say it will be a long time before any of 
us forget the shark or the fright it gave us. 


By Marion Satterlee (Aged i 5 ). 

The violet blooms both at the door of the lowly 
cottage and at the gate of the palace ; so genius 
is found in the plowman as well as in the peer. 

A striking instance of this is Robert Burns. 

In the hamlet of Alloway, in Ayrshire, Scotland, 
a farmer, one William Burns, built with his own 
hands a cottage, a picture of which is now be- 
fore us, doubtless himself making the little window 
through which the sun, veiled by the mists of a 

January morning in the year 1759, ^ rs ^ shone into 
the birthplace of Robert Burns. 

Here, at Alloway, in his boyhood, the stalwart 
figure of the future poet became a familiar sight 
to the simple farmers of the neighborhood, as he 
followed his plow and hummed over as he went 
some quaint old Scottish air, or sat at his father's 
table, devouring, at one and the same time his 
midday meal and some favorite book. Few of his 
associates, however, could have dreamed that, in 
after years, the little clay-built cottage would bear 
an inscription, proudly stating that there had been 
the birthplace of Robert Burns, the poet ; and that 
the walls, the wood-work, and even the tables in 
the principal room of the house, would be covered 
with the names of travelers from all parts of Scot- 

land and from far across the sea, who had come to 
visit his early home and carry away with them a 
pressed flower from the threshold of him whose 
spirited battle-cry or whose tender love-songs had 
stirred their hearts. 

But it was with Burns as with many others be- 
fore him : all this came too late. The statues and 
monuments raised in his memory, the biographies 
and essays written about him, the choice editions 
of his works, could not lift the great load of 
care and sordid poverty which made him 
prematurely old, and crushed out the iife and 
buoyancy of his warm, passionate, proud heart. 
Burns was born a plowman, but also a 
poet ; as a farmer, he could not succeed ; his 
poet soul took wings and soared far beyond 
the lowly calling to which he had been born. 
He was continually falling in love, and con- 
stantly broke out into song to some Jean, or 
Mary, or Nannie, who had been captivated 
by his dark eyes and eloquent tongue : and 
then his tender heart sang even about the 
little trifling things that he daily saw around 
him, such as a daisy or field-mouse's nest. 
With such a nature, strive as he might, both 
ends would not meet, and in a fit of despondency 
Burns resolved to set out for the West Indies and to 
say farewell, perhaps forever, to his loved Scotland. 
It must have been a moment of overwhelming 
joy to the poet, because so entirely unsuspected, 
when he first learned that he was famous, and 
that distinguished men and cultivated women were 
eagerly reading his recently published poems and 
inquiring for the gifted author. 

A time of brightness now seems to have come 
to him ; but his nature was an exceptional one : 
impetuous and ardent, moderation was impossible 
to him. He found himself at home in society such 
as he had never enjoyed before ; but the enjoyment 
could not last long. During his stay in Edinburgh 
he acquired only a thirst for drink and a desire for 




fame, neither of which tastes were likely to render 
his quiet after-life at Ellisland, where he retired in 
178S, either a peaceful or a happy one. As com- 
bined farmer, exciseman, and poet, he did not pros- 
per any better than in his earlier days. But in spite 
of his want of success, he might have been happy 
on his secluded farm, with his wife (Jean Armour) 
and his children; but his now uneventful life soon 
became irksome to him. It was not, however, of 
long duration: he died at the early age of thirtv- 

seven, after a short, sad life, full of disappoint- 
ments and cares. 

That the character of Burns was faulty, and that 
his too impulsive nature led him into frequent ex- 
cesses, can not be denied ; but that his heart was a 
great one, and that many of his aspirations were 
noble, can not be denied also. And it is with a feel- 
ing of affectionate interest that we turn to the 
humble cottage which, as the birthplace of Robert 
Burns, has become forever a hallowed spot. 


By James C. Holenshade (Aged i 3 ). 

Robert Burns was born in Scotland ; 
He was a farmer lad — 
His lot in life to guide the plow. 
In simple homespun clad. 

He dined on cheese and oaten cake, 
Or buttermilk and porridge, 
And breakfasted on plain pease broth. 
But longed for fame and knowledge. 

He must have had a tender heart, 
For in the field one day 
A mouse's nest was overturned — 
The creature ran away. 

Then Robert wrote a little rhyme, 
Quite pitiful and kind. 
Bewailing the poor beastie's fate. 
That showed the Poet mind ; 

Because, you see, a common boy 
Would sure have chased the beast, 
With savage yells and whirling stones, 
Till out of sight at least. 

And once, while seated in the church. 
A lady proud and gay, 
Close to him sat with scornful look. 
Too frivolous to pray. 

Perchance upon his homespun clothes, 
Or sturdy brogans coarse, 
Her scornful glances fell askance 
With irritating force. 

He must have thought her conduct coarse. 
Unladylike, and strange, 
For, moralizing o'er the fact, 
Right quaintly did arrange 

That well-known phrase with sense so true : 
' Could we as others see us 
But see ourselves, the gift, indeed, 
From much that 's ill would free us ! " 

The merry pranks of " Halloween," 
So many years ago, 
He pictures to our minds until 
We long to do just so. 

And surely Tarn O'Shanter's mare 
The lesson must convey, 
That round one's house at night is far 
The safest place to stay. 

"The twa dogs'" long and friendly chat 
Impresses on the mind 
That e'en in selfish idleness 
No happiness we '11 find. 

His cheery heart must sore have been 
The day he penned, forlorn, 
' Man's inhumanity to man 
Makes countless thousands mourn." 

How many men and women, too, 
In life's hard struggle drear, 
" A man's a man for a' that" has 
Unto them given cheer ! 

His words for o'er a century 
Have given hope and pleasure 
To hopeless men, to hapless men ; 
Made better men of leisure. 

He may have often dropped the plow, 
At rhyming to take turns ; 
Mind, every boy that drops the plow 
Can't be a Robert Burns ! 



As stated in our Letter-Box last month, many hun- to print it with the two already named. Payment, at the 

dreds of compositions have been received in response to rate promised, has been sent, with our thanks, to the 

our invitation on page 474 of the April number of St. three young authors. 

Nicholas. Of these, the two which seem to our Com- It must, however, be said that, as in the case of the 

mittee the best on their respective subjects, taking all "Tiger" competition (see page 235 of St. NICHOLAS 

points of the contest into consideration, are : "A Shark for January, 1SS3), the difficulty of selecting the best has 

in Sight,'' by Tohn Peck, Jr., and "Robert Burns," by been very great; and, as before, our sense of justice 

Marion Satterlee. demands a long Roll of Honor, giving the names of 

Another paper on Robert Burns, written in verse by those whose efforts in composition are too praiseworthy 

James C. Ilolenshade, aged twelve years, is so good, in to be passed by without acknowledgment, 
spite of some faultv lines, that we yield to the temptation 



Lottie A. Best — Carrie Lash — Will von Moody — Addie W. Bunnell — Alice P. Pendleton — R. K. Saxe — Claribel Moulton — Alice 
Dillingham — William Dana Orcutt — Amy Mothershead — Louise M. Knight — Peter Wade Chance — Eddie Sabin -r- Hortense E. Martin — 
Lizzie B. Robertson — L. T. Van Santvoord — Marion Clara Smith — Edna Morse — Emma Hall — C. Louise Higgins — Gertrude Halladay 

— Nellie Tunnicliff — Pet Ennis — Edgar T. Keyser — Horace Wylie — Hugo Diemer — Bessie Holmes — Nellie Glass — Kate M. Bott— Geo. 

D. Moore — Flora Rawson —Charles T. Slider — Paul R. Towne — Orville H. Leonard — Angelo Hall — Helen B. Pendleton — Richard Pay- 
son — Dudley Garst — Harry Houck — Minerva Primm — Alex. Heron Davisson — Virginia M. Reid — William Lamping — Caroline D. 
Elmendorf— Hilda E. Ingalls — Hallie Metcalf— Charles C. Brown — Minnie M. Wait — Harry V. Amy]— Wallie Wilson — May Manny- 
Mamie Leverich — John F. Fairchild — Mamie E. Page — Edith D. Cooper — Louise Hobby — Gertrude Bemis — Julius K. Schaefer — Ar- 
thur C. Hobart — Annie E. Lewis — Charles F. Shaw — Mary A. Fletcher — Lightfoot Meredith — Gracie Q. Bird — Mattie W. Baxter — 
Rosemary Baum — Genevieve Harvey — Phillips Carmer — SueD. Huntington — Milan E. Goodrich — Henry Channing Church — Carrie C. 
Howard — Dimple Robertson — Julia T. Pember — Lulie R.Shippey — Flossie Paul — Fred. Russell — May Gearhart — Bessie Howe — Bertha 
M. Sears — Henrietta Hulskamp — Martha Kennar — May Winston — D. O. Sullivan — Louise H. Lawrence — Stark R. Sweeney- — Susie M. 
Higgins — Birdie Byrne — Katie H. Elliott — Bessie P. Sutphen — Lyle M. Foate — Reginald I. Brasher — "Woodpecker" — Truman J. 
Purdy — R. N. — Harry W. George — Millie G.King — Charles Lee Faries — Carrie Malen — Paul W. Brown — Lilian Scott — Josephine 
Kernochan — George C. Baker — Ethelind Richards — Elizabeth Pendleton — Helen G. Dawley — Clara B. Pitts — Percy F. Jamieson — Glenn 
J. Bowker — Andrew H. Pattison — Mary Sherman — Julie E. Avulhe — Mary Redline — E. W. Mumford — Bessie Doltield — AileenO'Don- 
nell — Mary L. Barnett — Corina A. Shattuck — Harold Stebbins — Edith King Vezin — K. M. M. — Ernest Peabody — George Robinson — 
Stuart M. Beard — John S. Aukenly — EvaG. Hunt — JennieC. Kissam — Thomas L. Thurber — Helen H. Baldwin — Caro Hodges — Helen 
M. Slade — Willie B. Trites — Evelyn P. Willing — Bessie A. Jackson — Mabel Florence Noyes — - Edna Wheeler — F. Louis Grammer — A. 
L. Walter — Mable G. Guion — M. C. D. — Samuel Herbert Fisher — Harriet Langdon Pruyn — R. H. Calely — M. B. — L. Mabel New- 
man — Paul Clagstone — Vincent Zohrowski — Willie E. Galloway — Walter M. Arnold — S. F. Riches — John MacCracken — Kittie R. 
Kipp — Harrison Hall Schaff — Florence A. Pool — VioletA.Todd — Mary Helen Ritchie — W. Martin — A. E Cotrel — Pauline Lattimore — 

E. W. — Maude Pike — Charles Richardson — " Honor Bright " — M. Louise Grozier — J. C. Loos — LilUe MacVolland — Emma L. Flagg — 
May B. Gray — Mary B. Boyd — Herbert P. Morton — Mary Yeager — Belle I. Miller — Magella Pool — E. M. Perry — George Shepard — 
Bessie Carroll — Effie Lovell — Lulie Stockton — Abbie Scott — Nellie A. Freeman — Maude Graves — Margaret G. Spring — Pearl 
McColI — E. C. Armstrong — Alice J. Allen — Martie Le R. Stoddard — Orie Stevens — George James Bayles — Annie Blanton — James 
R. Allen — Samuel Parry — Ralph W. Newcomb — Nora Brewer — William H. Allen — Lizzie Beecher — George S. Mason — Georgia A. 
Capen — Ed. Munger — Blackford Mills Condit — Gertrude E. Bromfield — Ned Pierson — Eugenia Winston — Clarence H. Newton — 
Harry C. Nesbit — Sarah M. Roberts — Eleanor McFetridge — Blanche M. Henszey — Alexander Whiteside, Jr. — Geo. Candee Gale — 
R. M. Hotaling — Margaret Brent — E. Heydon Baker — Grace Barstow — Louis M. Bishop — Warren P. Sheldon — Elliott Forsyth — 
Lulu T. — Arthur N. Dennis — Augustus L. Craig — Archie B. Jennings — L. E. Smalley — Alice B. Wilbur — Eddie Chenevent — 
Perry M. Riley— Etta L. Hodgdon— Henry A. Bull — Edward Thomas — Minnie A. Olds— Frank Lee — Bessie Hall — Philip Ferris — 
Zoe E. Hubby — Mary M. Mears — Robert D. Jenks — Leland S. Boruck — Sada Tomlinson — Frederic Wm. Bailey — Helen M 
Perkins — Shelton Fleetwood — Margarita Grace — Elena Maria Grace — Emily Geiger — George Whippey — Harry Patterson — Libbie 
Williams — C. R. Hervey — Theo. A. Straub — Nimmo F. Pettis — Henry F. Peake — Edmund A. Burnham — Lizzie Warren La Mont 

— Willie C. Cook — Mamie Tomlinson — Lizzie S. Peebles — Mary E. Nichols — Gertie Hurd — Mary Leiraux — Mabel A. J. Cornish — 
Theron A. Harmon — Sarah Gruntal — Miriam Gutman — Helen C. McCleary — H. V. De Hart — Andy Colvin — "Sandpiper" — Annie 
Armstrong — Fred A. Brady — Josie Bigelow — Harry E. Witmer — Henrietta Van Cleve — Walter A. Walmesley — Fanny L. Van 
Cleve — " Rexie" — John Rogers Gaum — Addie House — Mabelle L. Parker — S. M. Muncaster — Fred. S. Elliott — Fred. Mersil — Wm. 
McDowell — Jas. F. Berry — Wm. C. Henry — Annie E. Frazer — Willie C. Perry. 


Mabel Cilley — Calvin W. Gibbs — Maye Boorman — Rudolph L. Grunert — Lizzie C. Roberts — Frank Shallenberger — Agnes Young 

— Mary Snellbaker — Clara Gilbert — Margt. Neilson Armstrong — Belle Patterson — Estelle La Paz — Lizzie H. Knieffier — Hollis C. 
Clark — Pare Winston — Ettie M. Withey — Herbert Sloan — Agnes B. Walker — Howard C. Ives — Helen E. Sands — Josephine E. 
Chapman — Helen M. Brown — Mary Hitchcock — Eleanor Ennis — Bessie L. Gary — Josie Nicholls — Edith A. Edwards — Charles T. 
Slider — Orville H. Leonard — Charlie M. McKee — E. P. MacMullen — Helen Thomas — Jessie S. Hoyt — Rosa Scott — Sue D. 
Huntington — Amy T. Briggs — Anna G. Clark — Sara Bair — Katie B. Sullivan — Edward D. Hinckley — Minnie Moreno — May Jack- 
son — Eliza M. Grace — Annie Jenkins — May A. Morse — May Roberts — Ella Wooster — Kittie Vanderveer — Dannie B. Ruggles — 
Adele Bacon — Jessie Price Thomas — " Ida" — Florence P. Fay — George Moulton Mcintosh — Mabel C. Craft — Evangeline H. Walker 

— Carrie McNaughton — Helen Loveland — Virginia C. Gardner — Mildred W. Howe — James A. Harris — Laura H. Wild — George 
Randolph — Maud V. Du Bois — Bennett Hornsby Armstrong — Fanny Gearhart — W. E. Borden — Clara E. Hollo way — Mamie M. 
Bryce — Cora B. Riggs — Richard Clunan — Med E. Dey — Sallie Janney — Rachel L. Pierce — Alice Hyde — Emma M. Curran — Nan- 
nie B. Sale — Arthur W. Rice — Lilian Andrews — Laura M. White — Anna E. Wright — Charlie Scarritt — Nellie Whitcomb — Gracie E. 
Richardson — Mattie P. Baldwin — Jane Peoples — Harriette R. Horsfall — Luita N. Booth — Anna Hotchkiss — Jennie F. King — 
Georgina C. Wolselcy — Grace Goodridge — Luther Davis — J. M. Mitcheson — Mary White Morton — " Teddie " — Maud Adams — 
Elizabeth Ailing — Alice Robinson — Blanche Brown — Laura Virginia Julian — Florence M. Tabor — M. Fanner Murphy — Hattie L. 
James — Otto R. Barnett — May E. Holland — Josie Nicholls — Ettie RairTbar — Josephine de Rouge — Rosalind Webling — "Honor 
Bright" — Abbie Hough Pierce — May Meinell — Bertody W. Stone — Adele Marsh — Mary G. Millett — Albert Clausen — Mary F. Kent 

— Mary D. Reeve — Herbert Crane — Gertrude R. White — Frank Smalley — Maude Burton — Walter A. Knight — May Craig — T. S. K. 
— Lydia B. Wiley — Mabel Burr — Edward Marlor — Joseph Bartlett Acken — Gaylord Miles — D. H. Bates, Jr. — Nellie H. Grandino — 
Ellen L. Way — Annie Hughes — Florence Hyde — Edith Kursheedt — Jennie S. Thomson — Maude Graves — Etta C. Johnson — Bram- 
well C. Davis -Frank M. Bosworth — C. A. Home — Margaret Deane — Mabel C. Falley. 

* See St. Nicholas for April, page 475. 





Peace and joy be with you, my girls and boys ! 
Summer greets you, and sends you merry rest 
and play. Open your eyes and hearts wider than 
ever, and be glad. 

And now, just for a little while before school 
closes, let us consider: 


The other day, Deacon Green surprised the 
youngsters of the Red School-house very much. 
He was telling them what an advantage the schol- 
ars who take great interest in their studies have 
over those who take only little interest, — " for," 
said he, bowing to the dear Little School-ma'am as 
he spoke, "I am sure every boy and girl in this room 
can not help taking some interest in even the dull- 
est lesson." 

Then he went on to explain to them how won- 
derfully interest works. " Not only now, not all at 
once, but in the course of life. It cumulates," 
said he, "like money interest. For instance: 
Some boys and girls take two per cent, in- 
terest in their studies, and some take ten per 
cent. — and compound at that, as all interest in 
mental improvement must be. Well, what is the 
consequence ? Is the ten per cent, chap in the 
course of years just five times better off than the 
two per cent, chap ? No ; he is many a five times 
better off. His mind will have widened, deepened, 
and filled itself, so to speak, in the most surprising 
way. Now, I '11 illustrate the point out of your 
own arithmetic," and the Deacon turned the pages 
at the end of a volume that looked very well-worn 
in its first half, but quite clean in the other portion. 

"See here," he continued, "look at these - fig- 
ures and make your own application: 'One dol- 
lar loaned at compound interest at one per cent.,' 
this book says, ' would amount, in one hundred 
years, to two dollars and seventy-Jive cents exactly. ' 

Now, what do you suppose it says one dollar 
at twelve per cent., compound interest, would 
amount to in one hundred years? Why, to eigh- 
ty-four thousand, six hundred and seventy-five 
dollars. Is n't that more than twelve times two 
dollars and seventy-five cents? And, boys, what 
do you suppose the one dollar loaned for one 
hundred years at twenty-four per cent., compound 
interest, would amount to ? Twice eighty-four 
thousand, six hundred and seventy-five dollars ? 
No, sir. It would amount (you see, I 'm not 
guessing ; I 'm reading the figures right out of 
your own book) — it would amount to two billions, 
jive hundred and fifty-one millions, seven hundred 
and ninety-nine thousand, four hundred and four 
dollars.' ($2,55 1,799,404). There, boys, what do 
you think of that ? " The boys were too much 
astonished to speak. They looked first at the 
Little School-ma'am and then at the Deacon, to 
make sure that no joke was being played on them; 
and finally a manly little fellow of twelve spoke up 
for the whole school : 

" We think, sir, that we scholars might as well 
go in for a high rate of interest, after this." 


New York, May 3, 1883 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: Were you standing out-of-doors in 
your pretty pulpit all last Sunday, I wonder? It was a strange day 
here, but maybe it was different in your meadow. I live in the 
upper part of New York City, near the Central Park, and I must say 
I never saw such a day. First, when I woke and looked out of the 
window, I saw that the pavements were quite dry, so I thought I 
would wear my best bonnet to church. Then by breakfast-time it 
was raining, and I was afraid I must wear my waterproof. Then by 
church-time it was really snowing and hailing, and Mamma said I 
must put on my thick sacque. Off we started, the wind cutting my 
face like everything. During the service, we heard sounds like 
distant thunder, but when we walked home the storm was over and 
we felt only a gentle mist. By afternoon it was so bright and clear 
that Papa and I walked in the park and admired the willows shak- 
ing their tender green tips in the sun ; and actually it was so warm 
before night that, on our way home, Papa had to take off his over- 
coat and carry it on his arm, and I nearly suffocated in my sacque. 
In the evening, Grandma actually asked for a fan! and there was n't 
a fire nor a speck of steam-heat in the house. We had spring, sum- 
mer, fall, and winter all in one Sunday, Mamma said. 

Your admiring friend. Jenny E. C. 


San Mateo, Fla., April 18, 1883. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I read in St. Nicholas this year 
something about the devil's darning-needle, and so I write to tell 
you that down here in Florida we call them mosquito-hawks. I 
thought it would be nice to write and tell you about them. The 
reason they call them mosquito-hawks is because they eat the 
mosquitoes. I am your constant reader, 

M. Jennie P , 


Almost all of you have seen the pretty summer 
flower called the fox-glove. But did you ever 
hear that the original name was folks' glove ? 
" The folks," as all good children know, is an- 
other name for the fairies ; indeed, this flower to-day 
is called by the people of Wales the fairy-glove. 

Even the Latin name of the plant is digitalis, 
which, the Little School-ma'am says, is derived 
from digitus, meaning finger. All these finger- 
and-glove titles come from the fact that the purple 
or white blossoms, as they hang in a row down the 
stem, resemble so many swinging glove-fingers; 



but, according to my way of thinking, such titles 
arc anything but a compliment to the fairy-tolk. 

A funny fairy hand, indeed, five such fingers 
would make ! Why, a whole fairy might easily 
slip into one of them ! Besides, the digitalis is used 
as a medicine by the doctors. It 's poisonous, 
too. 1 don't think it belongs to the fairies at all. 

JUST hear this melancholy ballad by O. 1. C. : 


Once there was a fisherman 

Who went to catch some fish ; 
He took with him a basket 

And a little china dish. 
" I '11 use one for the fishes, 

The other when I sup ; 
For, if they meet my wishes, 

I '11 cook and eat them up ! " 

He fished and fished the whole 
day long, 
From morn till late at night; 
He baited hooks and watched 
his bob, 
But could not get a bite. 
He then threw down his rod 
and line, 
And vowed he 'd go below, 
To find out what the reason 
The fish had used him so. 

^c A' 

L, ^ 


p- ^K 

Jffl !»r^ 

■sSen .-tJ&t 

JhJ^^cvJs^- 1 




gathered round 

The fish 

Each wagging his own tail, 
From the little polly-woggy 

To the great gigantic whale. 
Some fish were looking scaly, 

And some exceeding thin, 
But all were glad to see the 

And offered him a fin. 

They said : " We have no 
china dish, 

Nor basket snug and tight ; 
But we are very prudent fish, 

Who think before we bite. 
We do not need to cook our 

Ere we sit down and sup." 
And so, before his very eyes, 

They ate that fisher up! 








THERE is something that troubles your Jack, 
greatly. The other day a round rubber ball, that 
two boys had been tossing back and forth, rolled 
very near to my pulpit. I examined it closely, and 
it seemed to be hollow. There was only one tiny 
hole, the size of a pin-head, in the entire ball. 

Now, this is what troubles me: If that ball was 
made in a mold (and it seems to have been), how 
did they get the inner part of the mold out of that 
tiny hole? Or was the ball made of two hollow 
halves stuck together ? Or do you suppose they 
used a mold at all ? 

The Little School-ma'am tells me that not only 
balls are made of rubber, but dolls, and toy horses, 
cows, sheep — in fact, the variety of shapes which 
this substance can be made to take is endless. 

But about that ball. Do look into the hole, — I 
mean the subject, —my sharp-eyed chicks, and 
let me hear from you about it. 


THE birds have just brought in a letter from our 
good friend Joel Stacy. Let us read it together : 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Once I went to a Mrs. Jarley's 
Exhibition of Wax-works, modeled after that described in Charles 
Dickens's " Old Curiosity Shop," and there, in the scene called The 
Chamber of Horrors (a title borrowed from Madame Tussaud's 
exhibition of real wax-works in London), I saw a live "wax-figure 
representing Lindley Murray in the act of composing bis celebrated 
grammar." It was very funny to see the fierce way in which this 
figure would go through his motions when wound up, dipping his 
pen into an imaginary inkstand, and then, according to Mrs. Jarley, 
"writing them dreadful rules down into his book which it was 
indeed a most suitable figger for the Chamber of Horrors, as 
all well-eddicated young people would testify." 

Now, a friend has just sent me a list of books which Lindley 
Murray, in r8o5, prepared for his niece to read.* She, Alice Colden 
Willett, was then a girl in her teens, and one can imagine her 
gratitude to her kind uncle when shown the course of reading upon 
which she was expected to enter with girlish alacrity. Here it is: 

The Idler. 

Guthrie's Geography. 

Morse's Geography. 

Dr. Emerson's Gazeteer. 

Milton's Paradise Lost. 

Milton's Paradise Regained 

Thomson's Seasons. 

Young's Night Thoughts. 

Pope's Essay on Man. 

Akenside's Pleasures of the Im- 

Cowper's Poems. 

Campbell's Pleasures of Hope. 

Goldsmith's History of Greece, 
of Rome, of England. 

Robertson's History 7 of the Em- 
peror Charles V. 

History of America. 

Elizabeth Hamilton's Life 
of Agrippina, three volumes. 

Middleton's Life of Cicero. 

Doddridge's Life of Gardiner. 

Aiken's View of the Character 
of John Howard. 

Shaw's Travels Through Bar- 

Boswell's Life of Dr. Johnson. 

There is the list, with many a good book in i 
ing to poor Miss Alice, I should say. Did shi 
umes? your boys and girls will inquire ; and did she ever ask for 
more? I can not answer. I am thinking of my friend Mrs. Jarlev 
and little Nell, and a familiar wax "figger" in the Chamber of 
Horrors, and Mrs. Jarley is saying: "Wind him up, old man! 
P'int him out, little Nell ! " 

Affectionately yours and the children's, Jokl Stacy. 


Can any of my chicks tell me why snakes are 
specially respected in certain provinces of India? 
I am told on good authority that the natives of 
such districts refuse, on account of religious princi- 
ples, to kill them ; and yet the latest statistics say 
that during last year four thousand seven hun- 
dred and twenty-three human beings died in those 
parts of India from snake bites. 

Savary's Letters in Egypt and 

Mandrell's Journey from Aleppo 
to Jerusalem. 

Bryden's Tour through Sicily 
and Malta. 

Boswell's Tour through the 

Gisbom on the Duties of the 
Female Sex. 

Eliza Hamilton's I.etteron Ed- 

Blair's Sermons. 

Gisborn's Sermons. 

Fordyce's Sermons to Young 

Watts on the Improvement of 
the Mind. 

Beattie's Evidences of the 
Christian Religion. 

Addison's Evidences. 

Newton on the Prophecies. 

The Rambler, by Dr. Samuel 

Kalm'sTravelsin North Amer- 

Doddridge's Family Expositor. 
but rather appall- 
read all these vol- 

The original letter containing this list of books is in the Historical Society in New Haven. 





Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently 

be examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with 

contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

Owing to the space required for the prize compositions and the 
report of the Committee, we are compelled this month to omit the 
Very Little Folk Department 

We commend to all our readers Mr Leland's interesting article 
on "Brass-Work for Boys and Girls," in this month's Work and 
Play department, and, in connection with it, we are glad to an- 
nounce that the author probably will contribute to our pages some 
other papers dealing with similar kinds of Work and Play, such as 
" Leather- Work," "Wood-Carving," and "Modeling." 

That studies in these arts form both useful and enjoyable recrea- 
tions for young folks has been amply proven by the success of 
the industrial schools in our large cities. And, indeed, the New 
York Society of Decorative Art lately solicited aid in extending 
instruction in these branches, in a circular, from which we quote 
the following: 

" The Managers of the Society of Decorative Art are very desirous 
to extend their educational work in the direction of free instruction 
in the minor industrial arts, They wish to form large classes in plain 
sewing, embroidery, wood-carving, hammered brass, mosaic work, 
and in the rudiments of modeling and design. The experience of 
the past five years proves to the Managers that a broad field of use- 
fulness lies in the training of children of both sexes, from nine to 
fifteen years of age, in industries which may, at the same time, be 
both useful and pleasant to them. 

" The Managers feel that these are years when the fingers may be- 
come most expert and the perceptions quickened, as well as the brain 
developed ; and that this teaching need not interfere, but go hand 
in hand — rather as recreation than otherwise — with regular school 

Here is a letter, proving that The Schuyler mansion at Albany 
(pictured on page 666 of this number) is not the only old house in 
New York State which bears the marks of Indian tomahawks upon 
its stairway: 

Johnstown, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I live in the country, two miles from 

More than a hundred years ago. Sir William Johnson lived here, 
and the town was named for him. The house where he lived is 
standing. The banisters are all hacked up by the Indians' tom- 

There is an old bell in the school-house which Queen Anne sent 
here for a church. 

There are a great many glove and mitten shops here. 

My brothers and I take St. Nicholas. We like it so much we 
are going to have the numbers bound to save them. I am eleven 
years old. From your admiring friend, Hannah E. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I send you a conundrum that I hope you 
will be able to find a place for. 

What garden flower does a man name who has paid half his debts ? 
Answer — Glad-i-o-lus (Glad-i-owe-less). L. D. H. 

Scranton, Pa. ( January 3, 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My LTncle George, who lives in Minneap- 
olis, Minn., sends me the St. Nicholas every year as a Christmas 
present. I think it is. splendid. I can hardly wait for it from one 
month to another. As you publish letters from the little folks, I 
want to tell you something my aunt, who is living at our house, told 
me. She is seventy-five years old. Her name is Mrs. Jane A. 
Winton. Her maiden name was Jane A. Pabodie. The story she 
told me is about George Washington. It is true, and has never been 
published, so far as I know. Here it is: When her father, Ephraim 
Pabodie, was a small lad, his father took him lo see Washing- 
ton, who was then visiting Providence, R. L, where they lived. 
When they came into the presence of Washington, the boy said, 
"Why, father, he is nothing but a man." Washington heard the 

remark, and^ turning to the lad said: "No, my son, I am nothing 
but a man." He seemed so pleased at the speech that he put a 
number of pennies into the boy's hand. Aunt's father lived to be 
eighty-two years old, and used to tell this story about Washington 
with a great deal of interest. Yours truly, 

George Robert Van Schoick. 

Here is a Fourth of July picture which comes from a young 



San Francisco, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I "ve had such a time this morning with 
my black-and-tan pup. He is only three months old. He bites my 
hands all the time, and 1 can not do 3 thing with him. Will not 
somebody give me a few rules for training him ? 

Please put this in the Letter-Box. / like you ever so much ; 
please remember that, and my name is Nannie D. 

Anoint your hands well with a strong tea of bitter aloes. Then 
after the little darling has bitten them a few times, he will lose his 
appetite for you. 

Garrison, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am going to tell you about a little kitten 
that was given to me by the housekeeper at Fort Monroe. It was 
white all over, with a little black tail and a black crown .on its head- 
It was born on Easter, and when I got it it was a week old. It 
would lie on its back and drink milk out of a bottle. -It would hold 
the bottle with its hind legs, and put both its fore paws around it. 
Yours truly, K. T. D. 




The pleasure is ours once more of extending the thanks of the 
A. A. to the gentlemen who offer us assistance in our several depart- 
ments. There is still room for more, especially in mineralogy. The 
following letters speak for themselves : 

Columbia, California. 

I will send, to all of the A. A. members who will send me their 
addresses and postage to prepay the same, samples of various flow- 
ers, ferns, etc., found on or near this snow-belt nf the Sierra Nevada 
mountains. I will also send, to all members of the A. A. who may 
desire them, specimens of minerals for the simple cost of postage and 
packing. Any information on minerals that I can render, I will 
cheerfully give to the extent of my knowledge. With me this study 
has a great attraction, and here 1 find endless fields for research. 

Some of the most beautiful flowers, highly colored and delicate, 
new to your botanists, are found in rocky gorges and steep canons. I 
can aid you, I think, in very many ways, and also the others in all 
the States. You are at liberty to use this letter in part or entire. 
Yours truly, in the cause of education, 

Wm. H. Briggs. 

After this large-hearted offer, Mr. Briggs, perhaps better known 
by his iiom de plume, " Willie Fern," may look to see the Sierras 
prematurely whitened by a snow-fall of responsive letters. 

I offer my services to the A. A. in the determination of concholog- 
ical specimens. , Bruce Richards, 

1726 N. iSth st., Philadelphia, Pa. 
I will correspond with any one on shells. Thomas Morgan, 

Somerville, N. J. 

A Course of Original Study for our Entomologists. 

We propose for an experiment to offer a short course in the obser- 
vation of insects, to extend through several months. All who suc- 
cessfully complete this course shall receive certificates, and be quali- 
fied to enter upon a higher one next year. In order that as many 
as possible may enter upon the work, it has been made quite simple, 
and is as follows: 

All members of this class will be expected to write, each month, a 
paper on the subject assigned, which paper is to be a record of 
original field observations on any one species of the order an- 
nounced for the month. To make the matter perfectly clear, the 
subjects for the next six months follow : 

J uly. Lepidoptera. 

August. Hemiptera. 

September. Neuroptera. 

October. Diptera. 

November. Coleoptera. 

December. Insects in general. 

The subject for this month is Lepidoptera, and the papers should 
be prepared as follows : 

1. Give a brief but clear description of the order. 

2. Give a careful report of your own observations on any one 
species of the order. In this report should be included : 

a. Description of the insect, accurate as may be, and, if possible, 
accompanied by drawings, however rude; difference in coloration of 
the sexes ; varieties observed ; probable causes of such variation, 
such as differences of food, location, and time of year. 

b. Habits. — Date of appearance and disappearance of the perfect 
insect ; number of annual broods ; localities most favorable, etc. 

c. Transformations. — 1. The egg: description, sketch, duration 
of this stage; where and how deposited by the female. 2. Larva: 
number of molts, and changes noticed in these molts; duration 
of each mult, and entire time consumed in this stage; food-plants 
of the larva: drawings. 3. Chrysalis: description: methods of pro- 
tection and fastening ; duration of this stage : special observations. 
4. Parasites observed during thesestages (ichneumons,chalcids, etc.). 

d. Concluding remarks, with notes drawn from various works on 
the subject, and a list of such references. 

It will be seen that this work can be done by the youngest mem- 
bers, as well as the eldest, and in the award of certificates regard will 
be had to age as well as merit. 

Prof. G. Howard Parker, of the Philadelphia Academy of Sciences, 
has very kindly consented to receive and examine these papers, and 
to his address (corner Nineteenth and Race streets) nil wishing to 
enter the class should send their names immediately, as also to the 
President of the A. A. 

_On the completion of the course, a list of the successful students 
will be printed in St. Nicholas. 

There are no charges for entrance to any of our classes. 

A Course in the Observation and Collection of 
Botanical Specimens. 

Prof. Marcus E. Jones, of Salt Lake, Utah, will conduct a class 
of observers in botany. The plan is this : The members of the 

class will collect all possible forms and carefully press them, and send 
drawings of them, arranged according to the schemes Lube monthly 
given in St. Nicholas; or in case of inability to draw, send the 
specimens themselves, arranged according 10 the same schemes. 

Plants can be said to have five parts: I. ROOTS; II. STEMS; 
III. LEAVES; IV. FLOWERS (including fruit) ; V. HAIRS 
(Trichomes in general). 

The collection of these several parts may be made simultaneously 
and as the season requires; but the drawings and specimens must 
be sent to Prof. Jones in such monthly installmenLs as the printed 
schemes call for. The subject for this month is Roots, and the 
specimens must be arranged as follows : 
I. ROOTS* are divided into 

Primary.! The kinds are 

Tap; the shapes are (they are found in evergreens, 
vegetables, etc.), 

etc. (Collect combinations of these forms also.) 
Multiple (found in grasses, vines, etc.). 
(For shapes, see Tap roots.) 
Secondary. (Those coming from any part of the plant 
but the lower end of the stem, i.e., rootlets.) 
Undergrou ud, 

from root stocks (ferns, sedges, etc.), 
from true roots. 
JErial (above ground), 

Used for nourishment : 
from strawberry stolons, 

many tropical trees, 
parasites, etc. 
Used not for nourishment : 

orchids (tropical), 
air-plants of all kinds, 

trumpet creepers, etc., 
ivy, etc., etc. 
All those who finish this course shall receive the A. A. certificate 
also, and have their names printed in St. Nicholas. All who wish 
to enter the class should forward their names immediately, both to 
Prof. Jones and to the President of the A. A. 

The reports from Chapters are more encouraging than ever this 
month, but are unavoidably crowded out. The following new Chap- 
ters have been organized: 

New Chapters. 

No, Name. Menu 

45s. Bedford, Pa. (A) 5. 

456. Chicago, 111. (N) 5. 

457. Albany, N. Y. (C) 6. 

458. Haverhill, Mass. (A). .. 7. 

459. Philadelphia, Pa. (N) 4. 

460. Georgetown, D. C. (D) . . 4. 

461. E. Orange, N.J. (A) 13 

462. N. Haven, Conn. (A) ... 15. 

463. Dayton, Ohio. (B) 5. 

464. Westboro, Mass. (A) ...30 

465. Waterville, Maine. (A)... 6. 

466. Golconda, 111. (A) 6. 

467. Foster's Crossing, O. (A). 4. 

468. Saco, Maine (C) 20. 

469. W. De Pere, Wis. (A) 16. 

470. W. De Pere, Wis. (B) ...25. 

471. Germantown, Pa. (D) .... 10. 

472. Hazleton. Pa. (A) 8 

471. Washington, D. C. <H>. 4 

474. Greeley, Col. (B) 12 

475. Dundee, Scotland (A) 6 

476. Aurora, N. Y. (A) 27 

477. New York, N. Y. (M) . 5. 

478. Comstocks, N. Y. (A) ... 4. 

479. Durhamville, N. Y. (A).. 5 

480. Baltimore, Md. (F) 

481. Newton, Mass. (A) 10. 

'crs. A ddress. 

,W. C. Langdon, Jr. 
.Ovington Ross, 584 W. Wash- 
. W. L. Martin, 240 Clinton ave. 
. H. W. Spaulding, lock box 171. 
.Harry Colby, 1520 Wellington. 
.F. A. Reynolds, 159 Washing- 
.MissS. L.Hook, Brick Church 
P. O., Essex Co. 
. Fred. Post, 34 Edwards. 
.Jos. H. Jones, 233 Commer- 
cial street. 

Miss Kitty A. Gage. 
-C. W. Spencer, 
.Clarence E. Kimball. 
.Miss Katherine M. Bridge. 
. Miss L. F. Bradbury, box 606. 

Miss Annie Tracy. 

Samuel Willard. 
.Miss A. E. Brobson, 106 Past- 
.Miss Anne McNair. 

C. Buchanan. 43 Myrtle streeL 
.Miss Flora Ecker. 

,Miss A. G. Keiller, Temple 
House, Longforgan. 
.E. L. Wilson. 

. A. C. P. Opdvke, 200 W. 57th. 
.Geo. C. Baker. 

Arthur Fox. 

. Miss R. Jones, 222 McCulloch. 
.Fred. H. Hitchcock. 

* Names more deeply indented than others are considered as belonging to them: as Tap and Multiple are kinds of Primary roots; 
cone-shaped, etc., are kinds of Tap roots; Underground and T^rial are kinds of Secondary roots, etc. 
t The uses of every kind of roots should be carefully observed. 

7 i8 




No. Name. Memo 

482. Halicong, Pa 11. 

483. Albuquerque, New Mex- 

ico (A) 30. 

484. Old Town, Me. (A) 6. 

485. Brooklyn Village, 0. (A). 25. 

486. Rutland, Vt. (A) 15. 

Miss Alice M. Atkinson. 

Ernest D. Bowman. 
Miss Mabel Waldron. 
Lewis B. Foote. 
S. W. Merrill. 

Nearly 350 new members in a month ! Dundee is our first 
Chapter in Scotland. Chapters A and C, of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 
have united, retaining the letter and number of A, 64. Our thanks 
are due Wilkesbarre fur an excellent group photograph of the Chap- 
ter. We wish one of each Chapter, if possible. 

Chapter 131, Nevada, Cal., is again prepared to fill requests for 
exchange, and offers agatized wood, California flowers, classified, 
etc.— Maude M. Smith, Sec. 


Perfect spirifers and other fossils, for perfect trilobites. Corre- 
spondence in S. and W. on entomology and oology. — H. P. Taber, 
East Aurora, N.Y. 

Bog ore, for tin, zinc, and nickel ore. — G. T. McGee, Jackson. 

Petrified sycamore, for insects, and graphite, for rose quartz. — F. 
P. Stockbridge, Sec. Chap. 239. 

H. L. Clark writes that he has not seen hair-snakes come out of 
a cricket, but has found them in a cricket, and his address is Am- 
herst, Mass., instead qf Providence, R.I. 

Mocking-birds' eggs. — J. B. Russell, 95 Belleville av., Newark, 

N.J.. ... 

A vireo's nest and a sparrow's nest, for a tailor-bird s nest. — H. 
Montgomery, Saco, Maine. 

Correspondence. — W. D. Shaw, Sec. 395, 34 St. Peter street. 
Montreal, Canada. 

Cocoons. — Leo. Austin, La Porte, Ind. 

Labeled minerals and fossils, for fossil cephalopods.—W. R.Lighton, 
Ottumwa, Iowa. 

Correspondence. — R. E. Coe, Durham, N. Y. 

Sand from Gulf of Mexico, for feldspar, geodes, or quartz crys- 
tals.— J. C. Winne, Carthage, N.Y. 

Minerals. — Geo. C. Baker, Comstocks, N.Y. 

All sorts, for geological, botanical, or ornithological specimens. — 
Clarence O. Kimball, Sec. 466, Golconda, 111. 

Marine, land, or fresh-water shells. — Send list to Thomas Morgan, 
Somerville, N. J. 

Calcite crystal, dogtooth spar, and named fossils of Lower and 
Upper Silurian for offers. — Elmer H. Fauver, 50 Hess street, Day- 
ton. Ohio. (P. S. — 1 should like to correspond with some one ac- 
quainted with paleontology, especially if he livesamong Devonian 
rocks.— E. H. F.) 

Award of the Prize Offered in December. 

In response to the offer of a prize for the best essay on the life of one 
of the world's famous naturalists, the competition has been unusually 
close, and the prize has been adjudged with unexpected difficulty. 
Indeed, between an essay on Louis Agassiz, by Miss Mary Rhoads 
Garrett, of the Brvn Mawr Chapter. No. 300, and one on John 
James Audubon, by Miss Josie Mulford, of Madison, N. J., there 
is so nearly an equality of merit that we have decided to give two 
prizes instead of one. Honorable mention must also be made of 
Miss Zoa Goodwin, of "vVaverly, Iowa; Richard D. Bancroft, of 
Philadelphia: C. L. Snowdmi, Oskaloosa, Iowa; and E. B. Miller. 
A. C. Rudischhauser, A. B. Conrad, \Vm. T. Frohwein, and A. 
Nehrbas, all of the Manhattan Chapter, of New York City; F. E. 
Cocks, Secretary of Brooklyn, E, and Miss Bessie Deland Williams, 
who is only eleven years old. We print one of the prize essays, 
which, from its subject, is of especial interest to members of the A. A. 

Essay on Agassiz. 

" He prayeth best who loveLh best all things both great and small : 
For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all." 

— Coleridge. 

Louis John Rudolph Agassiz was born at Motiers, near 
Neufchatel, May 28, 1807, when Humboldt, Cuvier, and Napoleon 
were thirty-eight years old. His father was a Protestant minister; 
and his mother, an intelligent and cultivated woman, taught Louis 
till he was eleven years old, when he was sent to the gymnasium of 
Bienne. From thence he went to the college at Lausanne, where he 
spent his spare time in watching insects and fishing, and then 
studied medicine at Zurich, Heidelberg, and Munich. During his 
vacations he traveled in different parts of Europe in search of fossil 
and fresh-water fishes, and while an undergraduate described in 
Latin the Spix Collection of Brazil fish, which gave him distinciion 
as a naturalist. He graduated at Munich when twenty-three years 
old, and staid for some time in the family of his friend M. Cuvier. 
At the request of the citizens of his native place, he accepted the 
Professorship of Natural History at Neufchatel. About 1833, he 

went to Paris and worked in the laboratory of the Jardin des 
Plantes. As he said afterward in America, he had no time to 
become rich; if he had a few spare pennies, he bought a book at 
some second-hand stall; but he copied, as closely as possible, many 
volumes which he needed but could not buv. 

His glacial theory, published in " Etudes sur les Glaciers," and 
" Glacieres," was the result of long vacations spent among 
the Alps. He was noted, even by the Alpine guides, for his powers 
of walking, and still kept up this habit when he took the Harvard 
students on geological excursions. 

In 1846, Agassiz came to America, on a visit; but he staid here 
because he liked a country where he could think and speak as he 
pleased, and where his activity would be appreciated. He was 
appointed Professor of Zoology and Geology at Harvard Univer- 
sity, and his lectures in Boston gave an added interest to those 
studies on our continent. He became a master of English compo- 
sition, and spoke the language with fluency and eloquence. 

Professor Agassiz was an excellent and severe critic of a zoologi- 
cal drawing, and his quick brown eye detected the slightest fault. 
If the artist was careful, he would reward him with, "Try it once 
more. 'Tis all wrong, but don't get out of patience." As a student 
said, "When the Professor took a class out walking, he saw more 
than all of us put together; for he looked, but we only stared." 

A pupil, wishing to make a specialty of insects, was started by 
Professor Agassiz to watch a fish of the Hsemulon genus, without 
any instruments, and was told to keep the specimen wet. He soon 
grew disgusted with its "ancient fishy smell." The fish became 
dry, and he left for lunch. When he returned, he counted the scales 
for a variety, then took out a pencil and began to draw. The 
Professor came in and said: " That is right! The pencil is one of 
the best of eyes!" The next time he asked, " Well, what is it 
like?" The student told him. "You haven't yet seen one of the 
most conspicuous features of the animal. Look again." It was 
now afternoon. Agassiz said, on returning: " Do you see it yet?" 
" I see how little I saw before." " Go home, now. Think it over; 
before you look at it in the morning, I'll examine you." After a 
restless night, he was greeted cordially by the Professor, who said, 
" Well, what is the conspicuous feature? " " Do you mean symmet- 
rical sides wilti paired organs?" " Of course ! " and the Professor 
was happy on that imporiant point. "What next?" the student 
asked. " Oh, look at your fish ! That 's not all. Go on ! " He did 
so for three days — looked at that fish ! He says that the study of 
the Hasmulon for eight months, under Agassiz, was of greater 
value than years of later investigation in his favorite branch. 

Agassiz had great powers of attraction. Old Valenciennes, at the 
Jardin des Plantes, called him " Ce cher Agassiz," and the Nahant 
fishermen would pull miles to bring him a rare fish, and see his 
delight on receiving it. 

Since describing the Brazilian fish, it had been a desire of Louis 
Agassiz to see them in their native waters. Mr. Thayer, on hearing 
of his intended visit, said: "Take six assistants with you. and I 
will be responsible for their expenses, botli personal and scientific." 
This offer wns accepted and fully carried out till the last specimen 
was in the Museum. In 1S68, Agassiz became non-resident Pro- 
fessor of Cornell University. His was a busy life : giving lectures, 
corresponding in three languages, superintending his assistants, and 
contributing to scientific literature. In his last summer school, 
Agassiz asked his pupils to join him in silent prayer for a blessing 
on their labors. He had no sympathy whatever with atheistic scien- 
tists, and his opposition to Darwinism was greatly owing to his fear 
that it would lead away from God. While holding to evolution in 
nature, he taught that types do not change. Darwin called him 
his most courteous opponent and most formidable. 

His faith was strong in ihe hour of death, which came to him 
suddenly on December 14, 1873. He was buried at Cambridge from 
the chapel among the college elms. He was simple in his manners, 
not minding in the least carrying specimens in his handkerchief 
through the streets of London, and was not desirous of fame, refus- 
ing, at the height of Napoleon's power, a seat as Senator of the 
Empire and the Directorship of the Jardin des Plantes. While 
his was one of the most active and powerful minds, he was always 
glad to teach farmers and mechanic;., and ready to learn himself as 
long as he lived. 

[The following works were consulted by the author before writing 
the foregoing essay : Eippiucott's Biographical Dictionary ; Recol- 
lections of Agassiz, by Theodore Lyman, Atlantic Monthly ; 
Nature, October, 1872 : The Net Result, Work of U. S. Fish Com- 
mission, W. C . Wyckoff ; Character and Characteristic Men, by 
Whipple; Every Saturday, April, 1874: Popular Science Monthly, 
vol. iv. , 495 ; Christian Union ; Dr. Peabodys Funeral Servian ; 
Cruise through ihe Galapagos, Agassiz ; Evolution and Perma- 
nency of Type, by L. Agassiz (probably his last essay) ; A Journey 
in Brazil, by Prof, and Mrs. Agassiz; Christian Weekly, January, 

All who write to the scientific gentlemen who are assisting us, or 
to the President, will bear in mind the rules given in a late report — 
stamped envelope directed. The address of the President is: 
Harlan H. Ballard, 
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 

.88 3 .] 




Trace a path to the flag in the center 
without entering any of the four circles. 

S. A. R. 


The length of the words described varies 
from five to ten letters. When rightly guessed 
and placed one belmv the other, in the order 
here given, the second line of letters (read- 
ing downward) will spell the Christian name 
and the fourth line the surname of an Amer- 
ican general upon whose tomb is inscribed, 
"He dared to lead where any dared to 

1. Not given to artifice. 2. The god of 
the healing art. 3. A mouth. 4. A species 
of clove-pink, having very beautiful flowers, 
and a rich, spicy scent. 5. A kind of ever- 
green remarkable for the durability of its 
wood, which has a fragrant odor. 6. A 
handsome feather, worn upon helmets. 

H. B. S. 


te?; 1 — rz — n-N>/n — rt~i 


The diagonals (reading downward) from left to right name a gen- 
eral famous in American history ; the diagonals from right to left 
name a general who surrendered to him. 

The letters represented by the larger dots spell the name of the 
place of the surrender. 

Left-hand side of perpendicular line (words of five let- 
ters each) : 1. Facetious. 2. A claw. 3. Homes of birds. 4. 
The people who invaded the Roman empire and defeated the Em- 
perior Decius in 251 A. D. 5. A French word meaning listless- 
ness. 6. A country residence. 7. Winds about. S. Compact. 9. 
To compare. 10. A glossy fabric. 

Right-hand side of perpendicular line (still reading from 
left to right) : 1. A caper. 2. To bend. 3. Pertaining to a wall. 
4 ; To strike. 5. Erroneous. 6. At no time. 7. A deputy. 8. A 
time-piece. 9. Bravery. 10. A celebrated law-maker of Athens. 

I. * ... . II. ... , III. 

I. 1. Behead inscribed, and leave mere repetition. 2. Behead to 
expiate, and leave a single sound. 3. Behead to upbraid, and leave 
frigid. 4. Behead a thicket of bushes, and leave margin. 5. Be- 
head imaginary, and leave to distribute. 6. Behead a Latin word 
meaning " name," and leave an augury. 7. Behead to rub harshly, 
and leave a fixed price. S. Behead to tantalize, and leave repose. 
9. Behead to suppose, and leave to waste away. to. Behead the 
present occasion, and leave at one time. The beheaded letters are 
the same as the diagonals reading from left to right. 

II. 1. Syncopate a kind of nut, and leave a song of praise and 
triumph. 2. Syncopate to be buoyed up, and leave insipid. 3. 
Syncopate to tear into small pieces, and leave a rude hut. 4. Syn- 
copate slender cords, and leave falsehoods. 5. Syncopate young 
animals, and leave articles much used in warm weather. 6. Syn- 
copate locates, and leave assortments. 7. Syncopate skins of ani- 

mals, and leave fondles. 8. Syncopate heaps, and leave a kind of 
pastry. 9. Syncopate to raise, and leave a multitude. 10. Synco- 
pate to besiege, and leave a vegetable. The syncopated letters are 
the same as the diagonals reading from right to left- 
Ill. 1. Curtail foolish, and leave the threshold. 2. Curtail a 
real or imaginary place of restraint, and leave a member. 3. Curtail 
one who is conveyed, and leave to drive. 4. Curtail a sharp, ringing 
sound, and leave a tribe. 5. Curtail weak, and leave disposed. 6. 
Curtail a peculiar language, and leave a marine fish, something like 
the cod. 7. Curtail to moisten with dew, and leave the surname of 
the hero of a novel by George Eliot. 8. Curtail increased in size, 
and leave to cultivate. The curtailed letters are the same as those 
represented by the heavier dots in the first diagram. 

harry b. sparks. 


Each of the words described contains five letters. The primals 
and the third row of letters (reading downward) each name a fine 
city; and the finals name the river on which they are located. 

Cross-words: i. Aspirations. 2. To lessen. 3. The name of 
the composer of " Ernani." 4. To govern. 5. To follow. 

CL'CHEE smith. 




The initials of the beheaded words will r 
fathers struggled for. 

1 Behead a story, and leave a beverage. 2. Behead " so be it," 
and leave what Dryden says are " but children of a larger gTowth." 
3. Behead part of a ship, and leave a fish. 4. Behead a snare, and 
leave a knock. 5. Behead part of a wheel, and leave anger. 6. 
Behead a disfigurement, and leave a conveyance. 7. Behead to 
breathe hard, and leave an insect. 8. Behead to spring, and leaves 
short sleep. 9. Behead the product of a warm country, and leave 
the product of a cold country, ro. Behead the subject of many 
poems, and leave at once. 11. Behead a paradise, and leave a cave. 
12. Behead a fruit, and leave part of the body. 13. Behead to re- 
volve, and leave to fasten. 14. Behead to repair, and leave to finish. 
15. Behead to cut, and leave to bite. 16. Behead a man's name, 
and leave an obstruction. 17. Behead part of a boat, and leave a 
tree. 18. Behead was aware of, and leave recent. 19. Behead to 
scrutinize, and leave a cup. 20. Behead an exploit, and leave to 
consume. h. H. D. 





The title of the following verse is an anagram, the letters of which 
may be transposed to form a well-known name. The verse is 
intended to give a clue to the solution : 


Not in wrath the sword he drew, 

But to guard the right. 
W hu more loyal, tender, true, 

Ever fell in tight? palx reese. 


ytyjSrst t a word of letters two, and sometimes even three; 

And in it, when you 're traveling, you 're often glad to be. 

My second is a word which naughty children say 

When they are told to go to bed and mean to disobey. 

My third'?, a coin which, if thou 'It guess, perhaps I "11 give to 

And my ivholc is what a baby is always sure to be. 

ADA H. S-, AGED 12. 


I am composed of seventy-five letters, and am a verse from the 
Book of Psalms. 

My 63-66-61-4-36-55 was the fourteenth President of the United 
States. My 38-71-44-48-30 was the surname of a man who was 
captured Oct. 17, 1859, at Harper's Ferry. My 70-29-27-60-9-30- 
13-75 was the fifteenth President of the United States. My 50-45- 
9-30-14-26-64-35 is the surname of America's most famous states- 
man. My 26-66-75-36-72-26-33 is the name of a President of the 
United States who met with a tragic end. My 7-13-46-23-68-43- 
28-35 is the name of a President of the United States who died in 
office. My 54-18-12-66-26-16-44-35 is the name of a distinguished 
American legislator who was killed in a duel. My 26-22-37 was an 

able Confederate general. My 20-39-51 is what has often been the 
winter home of the soldier. My 26-64-41-74-65-40-42 is what our 
forefathers fought for. My 73-32-42 is the surname of the writer of 
a well-known patriotic song. My 62-17-3-10-2-34-3545 the surname 
of an able Union general. My 27-26-68-33-11-47-35 was a British 
general in the Revolutionary war. My 1-3S-S-57-19-4-47-12-41-66- 
53 is the name of a general who fought in the French and Indian war. 
My 24-25-26-31-47-33 was America's first inventor of note. My 27-26- 
56-6 was an illustrious American orator and statesman. My 58-6- 
26-21-5 w as Vice-President and President of the United States. 
My 43-52-68-26-49-17 is the name of a battle won by General 
Grant. My 69-27-44-59-67 is the name of an American general who 
fought in the Mexican war. m. T. z. 


Trace a path through this maze, entering at figure one and 
passing out at figure two. w. earle. 


Across: i. Unyielding. 2. A raised seat. 3. Much used in 
August. 4. Burden. 

Diagonals, from left to right and from right to left, each name a 
part of a clock. M. d. d. 


Numerical Enigma. Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
May glides onward into June. 

Picture Puzzle. Two souls with but a single thought — 
Two hearts that beat as one. 

Quincunx. Across: 1. Mash. 2. Egg. 3. Loud. 4 
5. Fray. 

Novel Word-square. June, user, near, errs. 

Charade. Robin Hood. 

Zigzag. John Wesley. Cross-words: 1. Junk 2 
AcHe. 4. SpaN. 5. C'oWl. 6. MEad. 7. Stem. 8 
DiEt. 10. PonY. 

Diamond. i. E. 2. . Rud. 3. Peril. 4. Revival 
pides. 6. Divided. 7. Laden. 8. Led. 9. S. 

Progressive Anagrams, i. A. 2. Ar. 3. Are, R: 
4. Read, dear. 5. Andre, Arden 
Yearned, deanery. 

Easy Double Cross-word Enigma. 


POrt. 3. 
PLay. 9. 

5. Euri- 

era, ear. 

6. Neared, endear, earned. 7. 

June, July. 

From 1 to 10, base; from 2 to 11, idol; from 

Eneid. $. 

Across: 1. 

6. ITu. 7. 

Triple Acrostic. 
3 to 12, ball. 

Rhomboid. Across : 1. Inert. 1. Overt. 3. 
Tales. 5. Dents. 

Geographical Hour-glass. Centrals, Gladstone. 
AlleGhany. 2. IreLand. 3. ItAly. 4. IDa. 5. S. 
RhOne. 8. GraNada. 9. LeicEster. 

Outline Puzzle. Begin at the extreme right-hand angle; then 
N. W. to the corner of the oblong; S. to the lower line; N. E. to 
the starting point; W. to the extreme left-hand angle; S. E. to the 
lower line ; E. to the opposite corner of the oblong ; N. W. to upper 
corner of oblong; E. to opposite corner; S. W. to lower corner of 
oblong; N. to upper corner of oblong; S. W. to extreme left-hand 

Easy Syncopations, i. Horse, hose. 2. Short, shot. 3. 
Smite, site. 4. Blow, bow. 5. Prince, price. 6. Vast, vat. 7. 
Road, rod. 8. Heart, hart. 9. Ruin, run. 10. Cause, case. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from Hester Powell, Lin- 
colnshire, England, 7 — Bella and Cora Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, 8. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the May Number were received, before April 20, from Cuchee Smith — "Uncle Dick and Aunt 
Winsor"— Arthur Gride — "Silhouette and Co." — Arian Arnold — Helen F. Turner — J. McClintock — The Knight Family — "Two Sub- 
scribers" — Pinnie and Jack — Mary A. Casal — " Marna and Bae" — F. L. Atbush — C". S. C. — Hugh and Sis — Francis W. Islip. 

Answers to Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 20, from Joe Sheffield, 4 — Helen L. Towne, 1 — Jessamine, 1 — 
"Tryplolimus Titmouse," 2 — Philip Embury. Jr., 10 — Paul Reese, 12 — Mary Wright, 2 — "Daisy," 1 — Bessie Brown, 3 — Callie 
and Louise, 1 — Edward Bancroft, 3 — Fannie N., 1 — H. Ries, 2 — Ed and Tom, 5 — Louis, 1 — Edward E. Gisbume, 1 — Mertice 
McC. Buck, 3 — Minnie Van Buren, 1 — " Jumbo and Jumbo, Jr., "2 — Adrienne M. Duysters, 1 — Lydia Farnham and Gertrude Fuller, 
-Genie J. Callmeyer and M. Dumonte, 11 — A. G. T., 1 — Hattie Metcalf, 1 — Russell K. Miller, 2 — Mary E. Baker, 4 — Charley 

Weymouth, 7 — "Robin Hood," 3 — "Mrs. Nickelby," 1 — Annie McLaughlin, 

-S. R. T., 



-Bessie and Birdie, 

-" Betsey Trotwood," 2 — " Partners," n — Mary Nash, 9— Carroll S. Shepard, 1 — " Sallie," 7 — " Sydney Carton," 7 — Florence 
Rosenbaum, 1 — Dulce and Dorothy, 3 — Lewis Fouquet, 10 — Edith and Millie Kendall, 3 — "TheThree," 10 — Alice and Lizzie Pen- 
dleton, 13— Effie K. Talboys, 10— Gaylord Bros., 5 — Jessie B. H., 1— "Star," 3 — Reginald H. Murphy, Jr., 1 — Nellie, May, and 
Puss, 7 — Dvcie, 11 — Mamie Hitchcock, 6— Hester M. F. Powell, 8 — The Two Annies, 13 — Minnie and Belle, 3 — Hattie Nichols, 3 
— Clara Small and Emeline Jungerich, 7— Kenneth B. Emerson, 7 — Walter H. Clark, 13 — The Stewart Browns, 8 — L. L, 9— Jennie 
and Birdie, 7— I. Ganeaux, — Sadie, May, Daisy, and Lou, 7 — "Punch and Judy," 4 — Katie L. Robertson. 5 — Teddie Comstock, 1 
—"Robin Hood," 5 — Emmie C. Dewees, 3—" Boston." 4 — Hazel A. Dalton, 2— Charlie M. Philo, 2 — Samuel Branson, 5— "Queen 
Mab," 5 — Annie and Louis R. Custer, 11— Estelle Riley, 12— D. B. Shumway, 12 — "Calla," 6— Mattie Fitzgerald. 1— Hattie 
Mason, 1 — Ariana Moore, 12— " A. P. Owder, Jr.," 13—" Rorv O'More," 8 —Clara L Child, 12— "-Nip and Tuck." 3— May Rogers, 
2— Lulie M. Bradley, 13 — Alice H. Foster, 3 G. Lansing and T- Wallace, S — Lottie A. Best, 11— "Miltiades," 6 — Minnie B. 
Murray. 11— C. H. Niemeyer. 7— " Alcibiades," 13 — Marguerite Kvte. 1 — Charles H. Kyte, 13 — F. B. and J. D. Harkness. 7 — 
Sallie Viles, 12— Willie C. Anderson, 5 — Joseph Henry Cuming, 5 — Pap^, Elida and Sam Whitaker, 10 — " Lulu and her Mother," 4 — 
Vessie Westover, 13— H. L. P., 6— Jeannie M. Elliott, 10— Algernon Tassin, 10 — Alice Austen, 13 — Eva Roddin and T. Miller, 4 — 
Maggie Tun-ill, 7— Mabel Tennings, 12 — Florence P. Jones, 1. Numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 

: .,>„■■■ Iv 




[Page 7=4 .] 


Vol. X. AUGUST, 1883. No. 10. 

[Copyright, 1SS3, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Margaret Johnson. 

" We did not mean to do wrong," she said, 
With a mist in her eyes of tears unshed. 

Like the haze of the midsummer weather. 
" We thought you would all be as happy as we; 
But something 'most always goes wrong, you see, 
When we have our play-time together. 

" Before the dew on the grass was dry, 
We were out this morning, Reuben and I, 

And truly, 1 think that never — 
For all that you and Mamma may say — 
Will there be again such a happy day 
In all the days of forever ! 

" The sunshine was yellow as gold, and the skies 
Were as sleepy and blue as the baby's eyes ; 

And a soft little wind was blowing 
And rocking the daisy-buds to and fro: 
We played that the meadows were white with snow, 
Where the crowding blossoms were growing. 

" The birds and the bees flew about in the sun. 

And there was not a thing that was sorry — not one, 

That dear morning down in the meadow. 
But we «ould not bear to think — Reuben and I — 
That our beautiful day would be done, by and by. 

And our sunshiny world dark with shadow. 

" So into the hall we quietly stepped. 

It was cool and still, and a sunbeam crept 

Through the door, and the birds were singing. 




We stole as softly as we could go 
To the clock at the foot of the stairs, you know, 
With its big, bright pendulum swinging. 

" We knew that the sun dropped down out of heaven, 
And brought the night, when the clock struck seven — 

For so I had heard Mamma saying ; 
And we turned back the hands till they pointed to ten, 
And our beautiful day began over again, 
And then ran away to our playing. 

' I 'm afraid I can't tell you the rest," she said, 
With a sorrowful droop of the fair little head, 
And the misty brown eyes overflowing. 
" We had only been out such a few minutes more, 
When, just as it always had happened before. 
We found that our dear day was going. 

" The shadows grew long, and the blue skies were gray, 
And the bees and the butterflies all flew away, 

And the dew on the grasses was falling. 
The sun did not shine in the sky any more, 
And the birds did not sing, and away by the door 

We heard Mamma's voice to us calling. 

" But the night will be done, I suppose, by and by; 
And we have been thinking — Reuben and I — 

That perhaps," — and she smiled through her sorrow, 
" Perhaps it may be, after all, better so, 
For if to-day lasted forever, you know, 

There would never be any to-morrow!" 

L I N D Y . 


By Charlotte A. Butts. 

" Oh, Daddy ! " called a clear, girlish voice from 
the kitchen dooi. 

" Yes, Lindy ; what 's wanted ? " 

"Ma wants to know how long it '11 be 'fore 
you 're ready." 

" Oh, tell her I '11 be at the door by the time 
she gets her things on. Be sure you have the but- 
ter and eggs all ready to put into the wagon. We 
're makin' too late a start to town." 

Butter and eggs, indeed ! As if Lindy needed a 
reminder other than the new dress for which they 
were to be exchanged. 

■'Elmer and I can go to town next time, can't 
we,- Ma ? " she asked, entering the house. 

" Yes, Lindy ; I hope so," was the reply. "But 
don't bother me now ; jour pa is coming already, 
and I have n't my shawl on yet. Yes, Wilbur ; 
I 'm here. Just put this butter in, Lindy; I 'II 
carry the eggs in my lap. Now, Lindy, don't 
let Elmer play with the fire or run away. 
And, Elmer, be a good boy and 
mind Lindy. Take care of your- 
selves, children ! " 

And in a moment more the 
heavy lumber wagon rattled away from 
the door, and the children stood gazing 
after it, for awhile, in a half-forlorn man- 
ner. Then Lindy went in to do her work, 
Elmer resumed his play, and soon every- 
thing was moving along as cheerfully as ever. 

After dinner, Elmer went to sleep, and Lindy, 
feeling rather lonely again, went out-of-doors for a 
change. It was a warm autumnal day, almost the 
perfect counterpart of a dozen or more which had 
preceded it. The sun shone brightly, and the hot 
winds that swept through the tall grass made 
that and all else it touched so dry that the prairie 
seemed like a vast tinder-box. Though her parents 
had but lately moved to this place, Lindy was 
accustomed to the prairies. She had been born 
on them, and her eyes were familiar with nothing 
else; yet, as she stood to-day with that brown, 
unbroken expanse rolling away before her until it 
reached the pale bluish-gray of the sky, the inde- 
scribable feeling of awe and terrible solitude which 
such a scene often inspires in one not familiar with 
it stole gradually over her. But Lindy was far too 
practical to remain long under such an influence. 
The chickens were "peeping" loudly, and she re- 
membered that they were still without their dinner. 

As she passed around the corner of the house 

with a dish of corn in her hands, the wind almost 
lifted her from the ground. It was certainly blow- 
ing with greater violence than during the morning. 
Great tumble-weeds went flying by, turning over 
and over with almost lightning-like rapidity : then, 
pausing for an instant's rest, were caught by an- 

other gust and 
after mile, till 
er obstacle was 
could pile up in 
wait till a brisk 
an opposite 
should send 
i n g and 
all the 
B u t 

carried along, mile 

some fence or oth- 

reached, where they 

great drifts, and 

wind from 


them roll- 


way back. 

Lindy did 

notice the 

dish of 

had fallen from 
her hands, and 
she stood looking straight 
ahead with wide-open, ter- 
rified eyes. 

What was the sight that so frightened her ? 

Only a line of fire below the horizon. Only a 
line of fire, with forked flames darting high into 
the air and a cloud of smoke drifting away from 
them. A beautiful relief, this bright, changing 
spectacle, from the brown monotony of the prairie. 

But the scene was without beauty for Lindy. 
Her heart had given one great bound when she first 
saw the red line, and then it seemed to cease beat- 
ing. She had seen many prairie fires ; had seen her 


L I N D Y . 


father and other men fight them, and she knew at 
once the danger her home was in. What could she, 
a little girl, do to save it, and perhaps herself and 
her little brother, from the destroyer which the 
south wind was bringing straight toward them ? 

Only for a moment Lindy stood, white and 
motionless ; then with a bound she was at the 
well. Her course was decided upon. If only time 
and strength were given her ! Drawing two pails 
of water, she laid a large bag in each, and then, 
getting some matches, hurried out beyond the 
stable. She must fight fire with fire. That was 
her only hope ; but a strong, experienced man 
would have shrunk from starting a back-fire in 
such a wind. 

She fully realized the clanger, but it was possible 
escape from otherwise inevitable destruction, and 
she hesitated not an instant to attempt it. Cau- 
tiously starting a blaze, she stood with a wet bag 
in her hands, ready to smother the first unruly 

The great fire to the southward was rapidly ap- 
proaching. Prairie chickens and other birds, driven 
from their nests, were flying over, uttering distressed 
cries. The air was full of smoke and burnt grass, 
and the crackling of the flames could plainly be 

The extremity of the danger inspired her with 
wonderful strength and endurance. Instead of 
losing courage, she increased her almost super- 
human exertions, and in another brief interval the 
task was completed. None too soon either, for 
the swiftly advancing column had nearly reached 
the wavering, struggling, slow-moving line Lindy 
had sent out to meet it. 

It was a wild, fascinating, half terrible, half 
beautiful scene. The tongues of flame, leaping 
above each other with airy, fantastic grace, 
seemed, cat-like, to toy with their victims before 
devouring them. 

A sudden, violent gust of wind, and then with a 
great crackling roar the two fires met, the flames 
shooting high into the air as they rushed together. 

For one brief, glorious moment they remained 
there, lapping the air with their fierce, hot tongues ; 
then, suddenly dropping, they died quickly out; 
and where an instant before had been a. wall of 
fire was nothing now but a cloud of blue smoke 
rising from the blackened ground, and here and 
there a sickly flame finishing an obstinate tuft of 
grass. The fire on each side, meeting no obstacle, 
swept quickly by, and Lindy stood gazing, spell- 
bound, after it as it darted and flashed in zigzag 


heard. It was a trying moment. The increased 
roar of the advancing fire warned Lindy that she 
had but very little time in which to complete the 
circle around house and barn ; still, if she hurried 
her work too much, she would lose control of 
the fire she had started, and with it all hope of 

The heat was intense, the smoke suffocating, 
the rapid swinging of the heavy bag most exhaust- 
ing, but she was unconscious of these things. 

lines over ridges and through hollows, farther and 
farther away. 

" Oh, Lindy ! " called a shrill little voice from 
the house. Elmer had just awakened. 

"Yes, I'm coming," Lindy answered, turning. 
But how very queer she felt ! There was a roar- 
ing in her ears louder than the fire had made; 
everything whirled before her eyes, and the sun 
seemed suddenly to have ceased shining, all was 
so dark. Reaching the house by a great effort, 



she sank, faint, dizzy, and trembling, upon the bed 
by her brother's side. 

Elmer, frightened and hardly awake, began to 
cry, and, as he never did anything in a half-way 
manner, the result was quite wonderful. His fran- 
tic shrieks and furious cries roused his half-faint- 
ing sister as effectually as if he had poured a 
glass of brandy between her lips. She soon sat 
up, and by and by color began to return to the 
white face and strength to the exhausted body. 
Her practical nature and strong will again asserted 
themselves, and instead of yielding to a feeling of 
weakness and prostration, she tied on her sun- 
bonnet firmly, and gave the chickens their long- 
delayed dinner. 

The northern sky was very beautiful that night. 

The fire itself was too distant to be seen ; but the 
column of smoke rising from it in the then still 
air was brilliantly lighted, and presented a grand 

Lindy sat by the window, her new dress in her 
lap, and her parents' praises still sounding in her 
ears. She was very tired, but the scene without 
had a sort of fascination for her, and she could not 
go to bed. 

Half an hour later her father found her fast 
asleep, with the glow from the sky reflected on her 
weary little face. He looked out of the window for 
a moment, picturing to himself the terrible scenes 
of the afternoon, and then down at his daughter. "A 
brave girl!" he murmured, smoothing the yellow 
hair with his hard, brown hand — " a brave girl ! " 


(Adapted /rojn the German. ) 

By Arlo Bates. 

There was once an old woman so very poor 
that she had no house, but lived in a hollow tree. 
One day she found a piece of money lying in the 
road. Full of joy at her good fortune, she began 
to consider what she should buy with the money. 

" If I get anything to eat," she said to herself, 
"I shall quickly devour it, and that will be the 
end of the matter. That will not do at all. If I 
buy clothes, people will call me proud, and that 
will not do ; and besides I have no closet to keep 
them in. Ah ! I have it ! I will buy a broom, 
and then everybody that I meet will think I have 
a house. A broom is the thing. A broom it 
shall be." 

So the old woman went into the next town and 
bought a broom. She walked proudly along with 
her purchase, looking about her all the time to 
see if people noticed her and looked envious, 
thinking of her house. But as no one seemed to 
remark her, she began to be discontented with 
her bargain. 

"Does everybody have a house except me?" 
she said to herself, crossly. " I wish I had bought 
something else ! " 

Presently she met a man carrying a small jar 
of oil. 

" This is what I want." exclaimed the old 

woman ; " anybody can have a house, but only 
the truly rich can have oil to light it with." 

So she bartered her broom for the oil, and went 
on more proudly than ever, holding the jar so that 
all could see it. Still she failed to attract any 
particular notice, and she was once more discon- 
tented. As she went moodily along she met a 
woman with a bunch of large flowers. 

" Here, at last, I have what I want," the old 
woman thought. " If I can get these, all that 
see me will believe I am just getting my house 
ready for a brilliant party. Then they '11 be jealous, 
I hope." 

So when the woman with the flowers came close 
to her she offered her oil for them, and the other 
gladly made the change. 

"Now I am indeed fortunate ! " she said to her- 
self. " Now I am somebody ! " 

But still she failed to attract attention, and, hap- 
pening to glance at her old dress, it suddenly 
occurred to her that she might be mistaken for a 
servant carrying flowers for her master. She was 
so much vexed by the thought that she flung the 
bouquet into the ditch, and went home to her tree 

" Now I am well rid of it all," she said to her- 






By ]. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter XXX. 


It was true enough that the mill was going 
again that forenoon "as if nothing unusual had 
happened." Such rest as the boys got must have 
been taken before ten o'clock ; for at that hour, 
the tide favoring, flash-boards were set and wheels 
and lathes merrily whirling. 

"The editor ought to have added," Mart pen- 
ciled at the bottom of the article in his scrap-book, 
" that the T. Brothers did not lose the use of their 
water-power for even five minutes in consequence 

of the dam's having been torn away. It was ready 
again, and so were we, long before the water was." 

To add to their triumph, the court refused to 
grant the injunction against rebuilding, which was 
actually applied for before it was known that the 
rebuilding was an accomplished fact. 

Their position appeared now to be stronger than 
ever. They were running their mill in open de- 
fiance of all the power and influence that could be 
brought to bear against them by the Argonaut 
Club and the authorities of both towns, yet not in 
defiance of what they firmly believed to be law and 

Tranquil days followed. The boys were able to 

* Copy 

yright, 18S2, by J. T. Trowbridge. All rights reserved. 



keep their engagements, and also to start some 
new projects. In the midst of all, Mart found time 
to finish a wheeled chair he had for some time 
been making for his mother; while Lute and Rush 
gave their leisure moments to building a boat. 

The chair was a comfortable as well as a very 
ingenious affair ; and never was there a happier 
family than when, one Monday morning in May, 
the widow took her first airing in it, attended by 
all her children. She could easily work the levers 
and propel the wheels herself; but, bless you ! the 
boys would not allow that, while they were there 
to compete for the pleasure of pushing it. And 
oh, what a day it was ! The air was soft and 
fragrant with blossoms. The door-yard turf was 
starred with bright dandelions. The pear-trees 
were like white bouquets ; the apple-trees pink 
with just opening buds. And the great willow 
was, as Letty said, "one glory of young leaves 
and yellow tassels." 

The edge of the still river below — for it was full 
tide — was laced with the golden pollen which 
every breeze shook down, and the boughs were 
filled with the summer-like hum of bees. 

To and fro, along the edge of the high bank 
and then about the garden, the widow- rode, " like 
a queen in state," she said, enjoying every sight 
and sound and sweet scent wafted by the wind, 
yet taking more delight in the society of her chil- 
dren than in all beside. Letty wished her to see 
the pansies in bloom ; but she found more pleas- 
ure in the rows of peas, now well up, because they 
were the first things ever planted by the younger 
boys, and they were, oh, so proud of them ! 

Then she returned to the bank above the river, 
and sat there, looking at the water and the land- 
scape, and hearkening to the bees and the talk of 
the young folks, until the church-bells began to 

" It 's a long time since I have been to church," 
she said, with a sigh. 

" Well, you can go, now you have your c-c-car- 
riage," said Lute. 

"Any of us will be proud to be your horses," 
Rush added. " Will you try it next Sunday ?" 

" I '11 see. I should like to have the Tammoset 
and Dempford folks know that we are not such 
heathens as they seem to take us for." 

"There are some Dempford heathens for you," 
said Mart, from the tree, looking down the river. 

" Members in good and regular standing of the 
Argonaut Club," said Rush. 

"It's the B-b-buzrow," remarked Lute, adjust- 
ing his spectacles. " I wonder if he has got his 
c-c-crow-bar with him." 

Buzrow did not have his bar ; or, if he had, he 
did not attempt to use it, under the eyes of the 

young Tinkhams in the tree. His boat, contain- 
ing two young Argonauts besides himself, passed 
quietly up the river, to the widow's great relief. 

"They don't ask me where our dam is, as they 
did that night," laughed Rush. " They must love 
the sight of it ! " 

"However that may be," said the widow, "I 
hope and pray that they have made up their 
minds to let it alone ! " 

" You hope too m-much, Mother," said Lute. 
"They've no more concluded to let it alone than 
we have to let it be t-t-taken away." 

"What's that under your feet, Martin?" the 
widow suddenly asked. 

From her chair at the end of the plank, she had 
discovered that the hollow formed by the circle of 
branches at the top of the immense willow trunk 
was filled with pebbles and stones — many of them 
as big as boys' fists. 

"These?" drawled Mart, looking down, with 
his knee on one of the seats. " They are the 
boys' ammunition." 

"Ammunition ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tinkham. 

"Of course, Mother!" cried Rupert. "And 
this tree is our fort. If there's another attack 
on the dam, you 'II see ! Rod and I brought the 
stones up here in baskets, to be all ready." 

" This is the way ! Look, Mother! " said Rod, in 
the tree. And catching up one of the pebbles, he 
flung it at an imaginary enemy. 

He peered eagerly between the branches till it 
struck the water just below the dam ; then dodged 
behind a seat, as if expecting a shot in return, at 
the same time catching up more pebbles. 

" Stop, stop, child ! " said the widow, smiling 
in spite of herself at his little attitudes and alert 
spirit. "If people should see you, they'd think 
we were heathens indeed ! " 

Meanwhile, Buzrow was saying to his companions 
in the boat: 

"That dam makes me mad as I can be, every 
time I pass it. To see it still there, after all that's 
been said and done, and the sassy fellers on the 
bank laughing in their sleeves at us — it's a dis- 
grace to the club ! it 's a disgrace to the towns ! 
it's a disgrace to human natur ! " 

"You promised to tear it away yourself," said 
Ned Lufford. "We all supposed you would." 

There was a tinge of sarcasm in the tone in 
which this was spoken, and the cow-smiter's son 
noticed on Ned's face a smile he did n't like. 

" So I would, if I had n't waited for the club to 
take action," he replied, his coarse features red- 
dening to the complexion of a dingy overgrown 

" You waited for the club, and the club waited 
for the two towns, and the two towns waited till 




the mill-owners were away and only a crippled 
woman at home," said Ned, with a laugh. 

"Then a gang of hired men did the work," 
added George Hawkins. "And see what it all 
amounts to ! The dam was back again in ten or 
twelve hours, and there it's likely to stay." 

"No, sir!" said Buzrow, bringing down that 
brawny fist of his with an emphatic blow on the 
gunwale of the boat. He felt that he was losing 
influence with his companions, and that some 
decisive step must be taken. " I 've stood it long 
enough ! If we can't tear that miserable dam 
away as fast as five boys can rebuild it, we 're a 
lot of figgerheads, and don't merit the title of a 
club anyway." 

" We have n't gained much by swapping com- 
modores, as I see," Ned Lufford said. "Web can 
brag ! — but what does brag amount to ? " 

As Buzrow had been rather louder than anybody 
else in the said matter of brag, he felt himself 
lashed over Web's shoulders. 

"And what 's the use of a mill-dam committee? " 
said George Hawkins. " Is it going to take all 
summer to talk over measures, as they call it, for 
getting rid of a dam the osvners rebuilt in one 
night ? " 

" The owners did n't stop to talk, " Ned Lufford 
added, "but went to work like plucky fellows! 
Are the committee afraid of 'em ? 'Scuse me, Milt ! 
I 'd forgot you was one of the committee." 

Whether he had forgotten it or not, Lufford 
evidently, like Hawkins, took pleasure in goading 
their companion. 

"I am one of the committee!" Buzrow ex- 
claimed. "And I 've tried my best to bring the 
boys to decide on something. Now, I don't wait 
no longer for them, nor for the club, nor for the 
towns. If I can get ten or a dozen fellers to go 
with me some night, I '11 engage to have that dam 
away before the Tinkhams can wake up and rub 
their eyes open. Of course you '11 agree to be one, 
Ned? and you, George?" 

After such remarks as they had indulged in, the 
two could not reasonably decline. 

" Now, here are, three of us pledged ! " said Buz- 
row. "And we can get seven or eight more easy 
enough. We must go in strong force, so as to do 
our work up in good shape and make it a sure 

" 1 suppose it will be as well to get the com- 
mittee to move, if we can," suggested Lufford, 
with rapidly cooling zeal. 

"And hit upon some plan for ripping out the 
whole thing, and not simply breaking a few boards 
and stakes," added Hawkins. "There's no use 
o' that. " 

"Not without we do it often enough to make 

the Tinkhams sick of their bargain," Buzrow 
admitted. l; But I 've got an idea. No noise — no 
danger — just a little preparation — then, presto! 
out goes the dam in a jiffy ! We don't leave the 
mud-sill to be put back again, neither ! " 

" Tell us about it ! " both friends exclaimed, 
their zeal kindling again at the thought of the work 
being accomplished so melodramatically, yet with- 
out peril to themselves. 

And Buzrow proceeded, with solemn charges of 
secrecy, to unfold his plan. 

Chapter XXXI. 


If the plan was a good one, and a sufficient 
number of volunteers were found for putting it in 
execution, then they must have had to wait some 
time for a night favorable to their enterprise. 
Two weeks went by, and the Tinkham brothers 
were still left in tranquil enjoyment of their water- 

Lute was generally the one who slept in the 
mill, not only because a peculiar sensitiveness to 
sounds seemed to have been given him to com- 
pensate for his nearness of sight, but also because, 
as he averred, he had got used to his bed of shav- 
ings, and rather liked it. 

He had one night lain down, as was his custom, 
with his clothes on, — merely kicking off his shoes 
and placing his spectacles on the end of the work- 
bench, — and had slept comfortably about three 
hours, when he was awakened by a sound like the 
clanking of a chain. 

He was on his feet in a moment; but in his 
eagerness to get his glasses he knocked them off 
the bench into the bed of shavings. He lost no 
time searching for them, but hastened to the open 
window on the side of the dam, and softly put out 
his head. 

There was a moon somewhere in the sky, but it 
was a cloudy, drizzling night, and without the help 
of his glasses he could not distinguish one object 
from another. But again he heard, though not 
so plainly as before, a sound like the muffled 
clanking of a chain. 

It seemed to be on the farther bank of the river ; 
and, listening intently, he believed he could hear 
footsteps moving about. Then came a little splash- 
ing of the water, quite different from the murmur 
of the outgoing tide where it poured through the 
opening in the dam. 

Lute stepped quickly to the end of the bench, 
found the twine looped over its nail, and drew it 
tight with a single firm but gentle pull. That 
was the signal for secrecv and haste. 


A responsive pull, not quite so gentle, assured 
him that Mart was roused. He then groped in 
the shavings for his spectacles, found them, and 
put them on. By that time, Mart had awakened 
Rocket, who in turn shook the sleep out of Rupe 
and Rod ; and such a scrambling for clothes, and 
such a tumbling out-of-doors ensued, as that old 
house had never before known. 

Lute was at the window again, with all his senses 
alert, when Mart, half dressed, in shirt and trou- 
sers and shoes, came swiftly and without noise 
into the mill and glided to his side. 

'• What 's going on over there ? " Lute whispered. 
" Do you see something ? " 

Dim objects could be vaguely discerned on the 
opposite bank, and a dull, tramping sound was 
heard, heavier than that made by any ordinary 
human footsteps. Then a light clicking or jing- 
ling, as of a trace or some part of a harness. 

" Horses ! " breathed Mart. 

" Horses and men ! " whispered Rush, who was 
at the window almost as soon as his brother. 
" The shore is covered with 'em ! " 

Then once more the splashing at the farther 
end of the dam ; and Lute told of the clanking 
sound by which he had been awakened. 

' : I believe they're trying to hitch on to the 
mud-sill and drag the whole thing out t-t-to- 
gether ! " was his shrewd comment. 

" That 's their game ! " said Mart. 

He turned to the two younger ones, who were 
also crowding to the window by this time, and 
gave them swift orders what to do. While they 
hastened to execute them, he reached for an old 
shop-coat that hung over the work-bench, and put 
it on. This he did that he might be a less con- 
spicuous object to the enemy, when the time 
should come to expose himself, than he would be 
if seen in his white shirt-waist. 

Lute had guessed well the design of the Argo- 
nauts. Their plot had been well laid, thanks to 
wiser heads than Buzrow's ; and it might easily 
have succeeded but for an unforeseen circum- 
stance. To get a log-chain around the mud-sill, 
hitch to it the powerful truck-horses hired for the 
occasion, and then, by one strong, steady pull in 
the right direction, tear away the whole structure 
at once, breaking stakes and spilings, or pulling 
them up — a bright idea, was n't it? Well, this 
■ was what Buzrow had heard somebody say should 
have been done before when the dam was de- 
stroyed, and which it had been determined to do 

Then the wreck, so the Argonauts reasoned, 
could be dragged off down the bed of the river 
by the horses, still attached, taken to some con- 
venient spot, and there broken up and burned or set 

adrift, at leisure. Any number of volunteers might 
have been enlisted in what promised to be so glori- 
ous an enterprise. But in order to insure secrecy 
beforehand and silence on the spot, only a dozen 
picked Argonauts had been let into the scheme. 

They were now on the Dempford shore, with the 
three draught-horses and their driver, a spade, an 
auger, and a chain, and bars and axes to be used 
in an emergency. The tools had been brought in 
a boat, which was hauled ashore a little below the 
dam. The spade was for digging under the mud- 
sill, the auger for boring holes in the boards above 
and the spilings below, and the chain for passing 
through and locking around afterward. 

This was to be done near the end of the sill, but 
not too near, lest the chain, in hauling, should slip 
off. A spot was selected about four feet from the 
bank. The spilings were found, and gravel enough 
got away from them to give the auger room to 
work. To bore a hole or two under water had 
been thought easy enough, and a much more silent 
operation than knocking away the boards with ax 
or bar. 

But now the unforeseen circumstance played its 
little part. 

Buzrow, booted and clad for the occasion, like 
the rest, stooped in the water, which was not now 
nearly so high as when the dam was first torn 
away, and plied the long-stemmed auger. 

But neither Buzrow nor any of his fellow Argo- 
nauts had fully taken in the fact that the mud-sill, 
which before la) - on the bed of the river, was now 
sunken well into it. Consequently, he bored his first 
hole into the timber, instead of simply boring 
through the spiling under it. A second hole was 
no more lucky. Then the spade had to be used 
again, to get out more gravel. At last, however, 
he hit the right place. Another hole was made in 
the board that rested on the sill. Then the chain 
was worked through both holes and locked about 
the timber. 

At last everything was ready. The horses, har- 
nessed tandem, were to start on the bank, in order 
to give the sill an upward slant that might draw 
out the spilings with it ; they were then to be 
turned into the bed of the river, and driven off 
down-stream, hauling after them the dam, or as 
much of it as should hold together. 

The driver waited for the word. Buzrow took 
hold of the heavy rope, which extended from the 
last whiffletree, in order to hook it to the chain. 
But the delay had caused the horses to grow impa- 
tient in their strange situation. Having started a 
few steps forward, they had now to be backed up 
again. Buzrow was straining at the rope with one 
hand and holding the chain with the other, and 
two or three Argonauts were helping him, — six 



inches more and the rope would have been hooked, 
— when thud! patter! splash! came a volley of 

One hit Buzrow on the back. But he still held 
on, and would have hooked the chain, had not 
another struck the rear horse. That started him 
up again; and Buzrow, even if he had had the 
strength of the man whose fist knocked down a 
cow, could not have clung to both rope and chain 
at once, without having those burly shoulders of 
his dislocated. He dropped the chain, and tug- 
ged at the rope until it was jerked from his hands 
and he found himself hurled headlong against the 
bank in a heap with the assisting Argonauts. 

"Whoa! whoa!'' he muttered. "Can't you 
hold your horses?" 

Evidently the driver could not, or did not care 
to, with more stones striking the animals' flanks 
and hurtling mysteriously about his own head. 

There was an ignominious retreat, in which Buz- 
row himself was glad to join ; and, in less than half 
a minute, not a figure of man or beast was to be 
seen by the Tinkham boys from the other shore. 

There was a rally at the boat, where Buzrow 
and the boldest of his followers tried to induce the 
truckman to go back with his team and make 
another trial. 

" We can hook on in a second," Milt said. 
" Then let the horses run if they want to! Who 
cares for a few stones? " 

The stones had in fact ceased coming, and 
everything was quiet in the direction of the mill. 

" If you care so little for the stones," the team- 
ster finally said, "go and make a diversion by 
attacking the other end of the dam; draw their 
fire, so my horses will stand till we get hitched on. 
I '11 agree to that." 

A confused discussion followed. Some were for 
gathering " rocks" to throw at the mill; to which 
others objected that the volley which drove them 
off did not come from the mill at all, and that break- 
ing a few windows would not do much toward 
breaking the dam. Their business was with that. 

" We must decide on something," said Ned 
Lufford, " or we may as well give up and go home. " 

" Go home and leave that dam there ! " ex- 
claimed Buzrow, stung to fury by the hurts he 
had l'eceived and by the thought of such failure. 
" Never ! Come on, boys ! " 

"What are . you going to do?" asked George 

" Make, a diversion, as Balch says. Two of you 
help him hitch on to the chain. 1 and four or five 
more will pitch into the dam with our axes and 
bars, while the rest of you find out where the 
rocks come from — if any more come — and have 
some to fire back." 

Chapter XXXII. 


Immediately all the Argonauts, except Buz- 
row himself, began to search for projectiles along 
the shore. To choose one's position and skirmish 
with stones seemed a much more attractive part 
than to walk boldly up to the dam and be stoned. 
Naturally, almost any boy would prefer it ; and 
the Argonauts were human. 

Then, when Buzrow put a stop to that non- 
sense, as he called it, and appointed only four 
skirmishers, all the rest wanted to assist in attach- 
ing the horses to the chain. But that would n't 
do, either. 

" Let George Hawkins and Frank Veals go with 
Balch," he said. " They understand it. The rest 
come with me ! " 

While the others were gathering stones, Buzrow 
had taken the opportunity to stuff a big boat- 
sponge into the crown of his felt hat. They had 
no such defense against dangerous missiles, nor 
did the)' know what made him so ready to lead 
them into battle. No doubt they supposed it was 
the native Buzrow courage. But I suspect it was 
the boat-sponge. 

" It wont take half a minute ! " he declared. 
"As soon as the team starts and the dam begins 
to crack, we 're out of the way ! " 

Those he called upon could not well refuse to fol- 
low his heroic example. They armed themselves 
with axes and bars, buttoned their coats, turned up 
the collars, and pulled their hats over their eyes. 
The water was nowhere leg-deep, and all had rub- 
ber boots on. 

" All ready ? " said Buzrow. 

All were ready. They stood in the rain, facing 
the dam, and waiting for the word to charge. 
Nothing could be seen before them but the dim 
outline of the shore, the pale glimmer of the river, 
and the gloomy mass of the high bank beyond. 
In that deep shadow, the shape of the mill could 
hardly be discovered. 

Balch and his team made a detour. The skir- 
mishers advanced noiselessly up the bank. Then 
Buzrow, having allowed the horses time to get 
abreast of the dam, gave the word : 

" Now, boys ! " 

And the intrepid six rushed into the river. 

To attract attention, they made all the noise 
they could on their way to the dam, hoping it 
would begin to go before they had a chance to 
attack it. But Balch and his assistants were not 
quick enough for that. 

Carrying his head well before him, conscious of 
the boat-sponge, Buzrow made a lunge at the dam 



with his bar — not at the end nearest the mill (per- 
haps out of deference to Rush and his well-remem- 
bered bean-pole), but yet far enough from the 
Dempford shore to divert the expected volley of 
stones from that quarter. 

Excellent strategy in that respect it proved ; 
though the credit of suggesting it belonged not 
to the warlike Argonauts, but to the dull-witted 
driver of draught-horses. 

Buzrow's followers fell in at his right, consider- 
ately leaving him the honor of standing at the 
post of greatest danger, on the side of the mill. 

hit on the shoulder. A second stone struck his left 
arm — a stinging but not a disabling shot, the 
perverse projectiles appearing to alight anywhere 
except on the sponge-stuffed cushion prepared for 

"Why don't they hitch on?" he furiously 
exclaimed. " We must fall back if they don't ! " 

Ned Lufford had already fallen back, dizzy and 
staggering from the effect of a well-aimed pebble 
which found no boat-sponge inside his hat. One 
or two others were faltering". 

Meanwhile, something quite different from a 


At the first stroke upon the dam, the stones began 
to come, all in the direction of the attacking party 
in front, not one straying far enough to interfere 
with the more important movement on the flank. 

Whiz ! thump ! splash ! crash ! 

The sounds made by the missiles mingled wild- 
ly with the noise of bars and axes smiting the 
dam. At the same time, the skirmishers, perceiv- 
ing by the way the stones struck the water that 
they must come from the shore above the mill. 
opened a heavy return fire in that direction, with- 
out, however, silencing the Tinkham battery. 

Still the mud-sill did not start, although in the 
excitement of battle it seemed to Buzrow that 
there had been time enough to pull the whole 
thing away. 

At the verv beginning of the attack he had been 

pebble had once or twice touched the back of Buz- 
row's upturned coat-collar, and slipped away so 
lightly that he thought nothing of it. 

It came from the door-way of the mill, and was 
quickly drawn back in that direction. Then it shot 
out again invisible, the long arm also invisible 
which projected it over the platform. 

Then two hands hauled in — with something to 
haul this time. 

The lightly flying, unseen object was a lasso, 
which, after twice missing the mark, had dropped 
its insinuating supple noose over the sponge-pro- 
tected head, and tightened at the chin below. 

Buzrow gave a suppressed yelp, dropping his 
bar and throwing up both hands, and in an instant 
started toward the mill in a most astonishing 




The two hands hauling were Mart's. To them 
was now added another pair ; and never did huge, 
floundering fish emerge more suddenly or more 
helplessly from the deep than Buzrow the valiant 
tumbled out of the shallow river upon the platform 
and into the clutches of his captors. 

In vain his hands caught and struggled at the 
lasso. It had found a tender spot just above the 
coat-collar and under the chin, and to avoid in- 
stantaneous choking he had been only too ready 
to follow whither it led. 

The Argonaut who stood beside him heard the 
short and quickly choked yell, and observed his 
sudden strange movements. Not knowing the 
cause, he drew the too hasty inference that Milt 
had been seriously hurt and that he was plunging 
to the shelter of the mill. 

He started to follow. A third Argonaut followed 
him. But just as the two latter neared the plat- 
form, crack ! crack ! fell something more substan- 
tial than a lasso on their unprotected heads. 
Flashes of fire were instantly knocked out of them, 
together with all ideas of seeking shelter in a 
quarter which dispensed hospitalities of that sort . 

They recoiled, reeling and stumbling, into the 
river. One dodged under the platform, just as 
the gasping and flopping Buzrow was hauled head- 
long over it into the mill. The other recovered 
himself and took to flight, keeping step to a vig- 
orous tattoo on his back and shoulders, played by 
a bean-pole instead of a drumstick. 

Then Rush stood alone on the platform (not 
knowing what was under it), brandishing his weap- 
on, ready for fresh comers. 

No fresh comers appeared, the remaining Ar- 
gonauts at the dam also plashing off in a panic- 
stricken way down the river. 

Still the mud-sill did not move ! The reason 
for this was that the boys could not hitch to the 
log-chain. The reason why they could not hitch to it 
was that there was no log-chain there ! For this, 
also, there was a very excellent reason. 

The stratagem by which the fire of the Tinkham 

battery was to be diverted was good, as I have said, 
as far as it went. But a counter stratagem had gone 
beyond that. 

While the Argonauts were rallying at the boat 
and gathering stones on the beach, Lute had crossed 
the stream under cover of the dam, found the 
chain in the water, unlocked it, and pulled it away. 
He had then pushed back the loose gravel against 
the sill with his feet, and afterward recrossed in 
safety and silence before the final attack began. 

Much time w : as lost by Hawkins and Veals in 
searching for the chain : then a good deal more in 
exploring for the bored holes, which Lute had 
covered. For they now hoped to get the rope 
around the timber in place of the chain, and haul 
it off in that way. 

But things happened too fast for them. The 
Argonauts had retreated from the dam, and Buz- 
row was a captive in the mill, bound hand and 
foot, and admonished still further to keep quiet 
by a noose about his neck, which could be so 
easily tightened in an emergency ! Rupe and Rod 
were thus left free to turn their attention to the 
men and horses on the bank, who were soon glad 
enough to retreat again out of range of the pelting 

Meanwhile, the skirmishers, finding their pockets 
nearly empty of ammunition, had reserved their 
last volleys until they perceived, from their posi- 
tion above the dam, that some action was taking 
place at the corner of the mill. 

''There's where the rocks come from!" said 
one. " Let drive, boys ! " 

The action was already over, however. At the 
first stone, Rush stepped quietly inside and closed 
the door. A second came through the open win- 
dow, but hurt nobody. A third struck the plat- 
form ; while others, aimed too low, seemed to take 
effect under it. For now the poor fellow crouch- 
ing there ran out, wildly shrieking, ''It's me. 
boys ! it 's me ! " and made off with a great splash- 
ing, amidst the last volleys fired by his brother 

(To be continued.) 




By R. \V. Lowriu. 

I 'Li. tell you a story, 1 '11 sing you a song, — 
It 's not very short and it 's not very long, — 
Of six little maidens : in white they were dressed, 
And each was the sweetest and each was the best. 

Invited for four — well, now, let me see: 
Waiting was dull, so they got there at three. 
There were little Miss Katie and Nellie and Sue, 
And little Miss Bessie and Polly and Prue. 

It might have been June, if it had n't been May, 
The first of the month, and a beautiful day; 
They kissed when they met, as the ladies all do — 
Kate, Susie, and Nell ; Bess, Polly, and Prue. 

They danced and they skipped and they sang and they played, 

And they formed pretty groups 

the sun and the shade ; 

I said, when they asked 

of which I was fond, — 

nettes are the dearest, 

so are the blonde." 

that night, as I bade 

them adieu at the gate. — 

Polly, and Prue, and 

Nellie, and Kate, — 
I wished that ''good- 
bye ! " could have 
been "how-dV- 
And I said : 
'Come at 
three ! " so 
as to get 
them at 
Jl| two ! 

- -i'Sc£:.";_ 

L:, J(«5L„ 





By Edwin Lassetter Bvnner. 

Now, boys and girls, this is going to be a true 
story — at least, mostly true, and true stories, you 
know (or, if you don't know, some day or other 
you will find out), are often a good deal stranger 
and funnier than made-up ones. Not that this 
story is going to be very, very strange, or very, 
very funny, but it will be strange and funny enough, 
I hope, to be interesting ; at any rate, it is just what 
might happen to any boy who should go and 
do what Ben Brady did. But perhaps I should 
begin by telling who Ben Brady was. Well, then, 
Ben Brady was, or rather is (for Ben is alive and 
well this very minute, and you may be sure he 
will stare to find himself put into ST. Nicholas), 
Ben, I say, is a nice, bright boy who lives in the 
pretty country town of Dashville, and is the only 
son of Mrs. Elizabeth Brady, a widow lady, who 
regards Ben as the apple of her eye. Ben is 
really fourteen years old; but you would never in 
the world suspect it, for he is n't a bit bigger than 
Johnny Townsend, across the way, who will not 
be twelve till the fifth day of next October. Now, 
it was just because he was so small that every- 
body thought what Ben did was so wonderful. It 
really was n't so very extremely wonderful, as you 
will see, but it certainly was rather odd. In the 
first place, he went and bought a tourograph. 
What ! you don't know what a tourograph is ? 
Why, my dears, it's nothing in the world but a 
photographic apparatus to take pictures at home. 
Ben had saved up a little money which he had 
earned doing chores out of school, and when he 
heard what a fashionable thing it is nowadays for 
young gentlemen and ladies to take pictures at 
home, and when he found out how easily it is 
done, and that it does n't cost a great deal, he 
quietly made up his mind, and without saying 
anything to anybody he went off and bought a 
camera, and a three-legged standard to hold the 
camera, and the little frames to print with, and 
the ruby light, and a lot of dry plates, all pre- 
pared to take pictures on, and a little piece of 
black cloth to go over his head and shut out the 
light when he squinted into the camera, and in fact 
the whole apparatus, and took them home to his 
astonished mamma. 

Next, he lost no time in turning his room into 
a photographic gallery, moved the bed and the 
chairs into a corner, put up some cotton screens, 
made a romantic landscape, representing a weeping 
willow, a broken pillar, and an urn, out of some 

strips of wall-paper, for his sitters to pose before; 
and having turned the whole room into a scene of 
wild confusion, made spots all over the carpet, and 
filled the air with a bad smell of chemicals, he 
declared himself ready to take pictures. He be- 
gan practicing upon his mamma, his aunt Han- 
nah, his cousin Jane, and the cook, filling in odd 
times with the dog and cat when he could n't get 
people. The fact that these early pictures were 
not a success, and that only the most experienced 
eye could distinguish his aunt Hannah from the 
cook, did not in the least discourage Ben ; he laid 
the blame wholly upon the sitters themselves, 
declaring that he never could make any of them 
"look lively," or hold their chins high enough 
in the air, although his cousin Jane indignantly 
declared she held her chin just as high as it would 
go, and as for looking lively, she was n't going to 
sit ten minutes grinning at a crack in the wall for 

Perhaps by this time you have all found out that 
Ben was a spoiled child. Well, I must confess he 
wasi if not exactly spoiled, at least very much petted 
and indulged. His mother let him have his own 
way in everything which was not really wrong or 
harmful. So this was how it happened that he was 
allowed to go away with the Dashville cadets on 
their annual camping-out excursion. Ben's cousin, 
William Jones, was a lieutenant in the cadets, and 
he promised to take care of Ben if his mother 
would let him go. Thereupon, Ben began to tease 
his mother, and as he had always been a pretty 
good boy and had never got into serious mischief, 
and as she had great confidence in Lieutenant Jones, 
and as, moreover, sheknewit would be abitter disap- 
pointment to Ben if she said no, his mother finally 
consented. Then you ought to have seen Ben and 
heard Ben ; he jumped over the chairs and he 
shouted " Hurrah ! " till he was quite hoarse; he 
ran over and got Johnny Townsend, and marched 
up and down all the rest of the day beating a 
drum, and made poor Johnny go before, waving a 
flag till his little arms ached again. 

And so, for the next day and two or three days 
afterward, — in fact, till it was time for them to go, 
— there was nothing heard but "camping out." 
In an unlucky moment Ben determined to take 
his tourograph, and that is how I came to tell this 
story, for if he had left the tourograph at home I 
should have had no story to tell. 

By and by the day came. Ben was up early 

i88 3 .] 



and packed his apparatus safely in the bottom 
of his trunk, while his good-natured mamma 
put his clothes all about it so that it might not 
break ; and among other things she put in a 
nice box, containing paper and enve- 
lopes and postage stamps and a sty- 
lographic pen, and made 
Ben promise to write 
her home a let- 
ter every other 
day to let her 
know he was 
safe and well. 
Pretty soon 
the carriage - 
came, and 
away they 
to the de 

Jones go and help Ben out of the 
carriage, and then take him up 
and actually introduce him 
to the Captain. 

But pretty soon the 

steam-whistle began to 

the bell to 

and the 

md to play 

here there was a fine 
bustle. All the boys in 
town were assembled and 
a big crowd of grown-up peo- 
ple beside ; the band was play- 
ing gayly, the cadets had just ar- 
rived, and were that moment wheel- 
ing up in front of the platform ; a large 
flag was flying over the depot, and the 
people were cheering at the tops of their 
voices. Ben's heart bounded with delight. 
He felt himself so like a soldier going off to 
the wars, and such a very bold and martia 
took possession of him, and he so longed to be a 
cadet and have a handsome blue-and-white uni- 
form, and he was altogether so filled and inflated 
with enthusiasm, that his very jacket-buttons 
nearly burst off. 

" There he is ! " cried Johnny Townsend 
from the midst of the crowd, pointing 
at Ben, whereupon all the other boys 
set up a great shout, and were as irj 
envious of Ben as Ben was of the 
cadets. Indeed, they could scarcely 
believe their eyes when they 
presently saw Lieutenant 

Vol. X. — 47. 

the cars, 
and their 
handed them 
pretty bouquets 
through the win- 
dows, and every- 
body said good- 
bye at least a half- 
dozen times; and 
so at last off they 
went, singing " Sherman's 
March Through Georgia." 
It took them some hours 
to get to the place where 
they were going, so that 
it was nearly sunset when 
they arrived. The camp- 
- ,- ing-ground was a beautiful 
field, bounded on the north 
' and east by some dark green 
woods, and sloping on the west 
toward the highway, commanding, 
too, a distant view of the sea. Such a 
hubbub as there was unpacking and getting 
to rights ! Ben was delighted. The men 
went straight to work pitching their tents and 
making up their little cot-beds; the cooks hur- 
ried to and fro, making fires and getting out 
their pots and pans to cook supper ; the guards 





were mounted, and all were as busy 'as so many 

Ben was assigned to Lieutenant Jones's quarters, 
where, after a hearty supper, he went straight to bed, 
quite tired out with all the fatigue and excitement. 

well that I need not explain it. Now, ever so 
many people think that is all there is to be done, 
that the picture is now taken, and there's an end 
of it. Well, so it is taken ; but you would never 
know it. The plate looks just exactly as it did be- 

The next morning, Ben was awakened early by 
the reveille, or, as the cadets all called it, "the 
revelay," and, springing up, dressed himself hastily 
and hurried out to the field, which looked as 
though it had been strewn with jewels, all glittering 
as it was in the morning dew. And there were the 
cadets, already drawn up in their fatigue dress, 
going through the roll-call. The woods behind re- 
sounded with the songs of birds, while far off lay 
the dark-blue sea sparkling in the sun's rays. Al- 
together, it was such a beautiful picture that it 
straightway reminded Ben of his tomograph, and 
so he went directly and got out the instrument. 

Off to the left of the field there was a little green 
knoll, from which the camp looked very pretty, 
with the group of white tents pitched on the green 
grass, the colors floating from the flag-staff in the 
morning breeze, and the soldiers gathered in little 
knots here and there for conversation. Thither 
Ben went to set up his camera, and directly a group 
of soldiers gathered about him, wondering what 
such a little boy was doing with such a big instru- 
ment. Ben was, at first, somewhat abashed, and 
looked very sheepish to find himself the center of 
such a group of spectators. They asked him a 
great many questions as he was adjusting his lens, 
and were very curious to see the result of his work. 
Ben had never taken any pictures out-of-doors be- 
fore, and was anxious to see them himself. So, 
when he had taken three or four views, he hurried 
back to the tent to develop them, quite nervous 
with anticipation of the wonder and admiration his 
pictures would excite. 

But I must stop here a minute to explain to 
all those girls and boys who don't know already 
just how to take a photograph, that there are two 
or three things necessary in order to make a pict- 
ure. First, you have to put your plate into the 
camera, pull off the little cap in front, and expose 
it to the sunlight. You all know that part of it so 

fore you put it into 
the camera. There 
is n't a sign of a pict- 
ure on it — not a , 
line, not a mark, / 
that you can see 
But — and this is the 
wonder — the picture real- \\i 
all the time, although you \\ 
it. So the next thing to do is to bring it 

out; that 's what is called ''developing" it. And 
how do you suppose they do it ? Why, they take 
it into a very dark place, and pour on it a kind of 
fluid with a difficult name, and soak it in this 
fluid till pretty soon one little point, then another 
little point, then the whole outline, and at last the 

ly is there 
can not see 

i88 3 .; 



entire picture, grows right out of the plate like a 
ship coming through a fog. It is a very strange 
and beautiful thing, and I solemnly assure you that 
not all the fairies and witches and magicians and 
enchanters, in all your nursery-books put together, 
ever did anything half so wonderful and beautiful. 

And now, what do you think ? Why, when Ben 
hurried off to the tent, with all the soldiers follow- 
ing behind him, to develop his pictures, he found 
he had forgotten to bring this mysterious fluid with 
the hard name, and there he was, little better off 
than if he had not taken his pictures, for he 
could not show them ! He threw his hat on the 
bed, he stamped on the ground, he tried to tear his 
hair in his vexation, only fortunately it had been 
cut too short. But there was no help for it ; he- 
had to come out and explain to the soldiers about 
the magic liquid, and he felt very silly and he- 
looked very foolish, for he had fondly hoped to 
strike them dumb with astonishment. 

However, if he could n't develop his pictures, he 
could at least take them, and keep them shut up 
from the light, and carry them home to develop. 
And so every day he went about, setting up his 
camera and disappearing under the mysterious 
black cloth, till he became a familiar object in 
the camp, and a group of the idle soldiers would 
usually gather about him whenever he appeared 
with his instrument. 

Meantime, in the tents and at mess, he was intro- 
duced to all the officers, who thought it was so droll 
to see such a little boy making pictures, that they 
took a good deal of notice of him. Indeed, they 
each and all sat to him for their pictures, from the 
Sergeant up to the Captain, who, leaning upon his 
sword, with his right hand thrust into his bosom, 
and his mustache brushed out into very fierce 
points, looked almost as grand as the late Louis 

Ben was as proud as a peacock at being trusted 
to take all these pictures, and explained over and 
over again to every sitter that, as soon as he 
got home, he would develop them and send to 
each one proofs of his own photograph. Upon 
the strength of this promise every officer ordered 
a dozen or two to be struck off, and insisted upon 
paying for them in advance ; several of the com- 
mon soldiers and the band did likewise ; so that 
Ben soon became not only a distinguished person- 
age in the camp, but collected such a sum of 
money that it quite turned his head. Straightway 
he began to look upon himself as an experienced 
artist and equal to anything. Indeed, he was 
called by the good-natured officers "Our Special 
Artist," and one of them printed these words upon 
a large ornamental badge, which Ben wore tied 
around his cap. 

As a result of all this prominence, poor Ben 
became so puffed up with vanity that I very much 
doubt if a vainer little boy was ever heard of. You 
may easily see this for yourselves by the letters he 
wrote to his mamma. Here is one of them • 

" Camp Bismarck. 

"Dear Ma: I 'm having royal good times. This is a jolly 
place. They have the best things to cat you ever saw. I wish you 
and Aunt Hannah could just taste the chowder. 1 have just as many 
plates of pudding as I want, and don't have any water in my coffee. 
I 'm as fat as a pig. I 've got so I can take photergrafs first-rate. 
It 's just aseasy as nothingnow. 1 'vetaken most everybody's. I've 
got lots of orders, too. I think I shall leave school when I come 
home and go into bisness, and then we can have a horse and buggy 
and a new parlor carpet. I have made up my mind to join the 
cadets this fall — the officers all like me most to death. They call me 
Oltr Special Artist, and Lieutenant Wilder made me a badge to 
wear with that printed on, so you see that I put on as much style as 

"Oh! I forgot to tell you I came away without my developer, 
and so I can't finish a single plate. It was a horrid mistake, and 
I felt awful cut up, at first; but I shall fetch home all my neggertives, 
and just go right at it and do it all up at once. You can tell Johnny 
Townsend that he need n't expect me to go fishing any more. 1 
sha'n't have any time to go fooling round now with him. Please 
send me down two or three dozen more plates right away. 
" Your affectionate son, 


Meantime, Ben was taken about everywhere by 
the officers, and introduced to all the visitors at 
the camp as "Our Special Artist," to whom, with 
a great air, he always made the military salute, 
putting his heels close together, sticking out his 
forefinger, and touching the visor of his cap with 
a motion as stiff as a poker. 

But the proudest and happiest day Ben had ever 
yet known was when the Governor and his staff 
came down to review the troops, Ben was duly 
marched up and introduced to his excellency, who 
patted him on the head, and called him " my little 
man," and said he should esteem it a great honor 
to sit to him for a picture. The Governor, of 
course, was merely joking, and only wanted to pay 
Ben a compliment ; but the latter had become by 
this time so confident of his ability and so proud 
of his reputation that he took the Governor at his 
word, and accordingly, at dress parade in the 
afternoon, when his excellency was standing watch- 
ing the maneuvers of the troops, surrounded by 
his staff in their brilliant uniforms, with plumes 
flying and golden epaulets gleaming in the sun- 
shine, Ben, nothing abashed, marched boldly forth, 
and, setting up his instrument at a short distance, 
leveled it full at the distinguished party, and be- 
gan adjusting the lens. Pretty soon some one 
pointed him out to the Governor, who was very 
much amused, and was good-natured enough to 
send a member of his staff, with his sword clank- 
ing and his black horse prancing, across to Ben. re- 
questing him to shake a handkerchief when he was 
ready, and they would all stand quietly to be taken. 
Ben did as he was asked, and triumphantly took 




the picture in the face and eyes of the whole corps 
and a multitude of spectators gathered to witness 
the review. 

Afterward, when the Governor was riding from 
the field, he suddenly drew up at sight of Ben and 
his instrument, and, stooping from his horse, said : 

"Good-bye, my little artist; I shall expect one 
of those pictures when they are done ! " 

Ben, rigid as a lightning-rod, gave the military 
salute, and almost broke his forefinger by striking 
it so energetically against his visor. 

This event was, indeed, the crowning feather in 
Ben's cap thus far. His cousin, Lieutenant Jones, 
laughed, and said, " He has grown six inches taller 
already, and pretty soon we shall have to get a 
ladder to climb up to him ! " 

That same evening, as it chanced, several of the 
officers were gathered in one of the tents, where 
each in turn told some strange experiences that 
had happened to himself or his friends. Among 
others, Lieutenant Wilder related several thrilling 
adventures he had met with in Virginia amid the 
wild and beautiful scenery of the Shenandoah re- 
gion, where he had lived for a time. 

" Yes," he said, concluding, and at the same 
time patting Ben upon the head, " if I had only 
had 'Our Special Artist' there with me, I could 
have shown you some of the scenes where these 
things happened, and there 's nothing like them 
in the country." 

Ben was so grateful for this tribute in his honor 
that he asked many questions about Virginia, which 
led Lieutenant Wilder to go on and tell other 
stories of the lovely scenery of that State and the 
pleasant people he had met there, to all of which 
Ben listened with most attentive ears. 

But the secret of this sudden interest in Virginia 
was explained at the end of the week, when the 
camp broke up. When everything was packed and' 
sent off, and everybody was ready to march to the 
depot, "Our Special Artist" could not be found. 
Search was made for him high and low, up in the 
woods, down by the sea-shore, but all in vain, till 
at length, just as everybody was becoming very 
much alarmed, a little boy came up and handed 
a note to Lieutenant Jones. He opened it quickly, 
and read as follows : 

" Dear Cousin Bill : I guess your eyes will stick out when 
you get this. I 've gone to Virginia. I was going to speak to you 
at first, but then I thought, you 'd make a fuss, and so I thought I 
would n't. I 'm going to write to Ma ; so you need n't fret about that. 
I wish you 'd take my trunk back to Dashville — I did n't want to be 
bothered with it, traveling. I had a bang-up time at the camp. 
I 'm much obliged to you for taking me. I like the cadets first-rate, 
and I shall join them in the fall. You can tell Ma that I have gone 
to take views. You know there are n't any views around Dashville 
worth a cent. Tell her she need n't go and get worried about me; 
there wont anything happen to me; I guess I know how to take 
care of myself, and I shall come home just as quick as I use up my 
plates. Yours truly,' Ben Brady." 

Poor Lieutenant Jones turned pale, and stared at 
the letter in blank amazement, as if it could not be 
true. What could he say to Mrs. Brady, and how 
could he ever make her believe that he was not to 
blame ? He thought for a moment of pursuing 
Ben, of. writing, of telegraphing; but he soon saw 
it would be of no use, for there was no address to 
the letter and there was no way of finding out his 

But we must leave the unhappy Lieutenant to 
go back to Dashville and break the news of Ben's 
sudden and unexpected departure as best he could 
to Mrs. Brady, while we follow the footsteps of 
" Our Special Artist." 

Ben was not in the first class in geography in 
the Dashville High School, and his knowledge of 
that branch of learning was as uncertain as his 
spelling. He had a very vague notion that Vir- 
ginia was somewhere down South ; but how to get 
to it, he did n't know at all. By dint of inquiring, 
however, he found out that he must go through 
New York, Baltimore, and Washington. In one 
of these places he thought he could get some 
of the magic liquid with which to develop his 

But he had never been in a big city in his 
life ; and when he got to New York, the tremen- 
dous crowds of people, the rush, the confusion, 
the tumult, so impressed him that he dared only 
go from one depot to the other, and even then was 
quaking in his boots lest he should be lost. 

At the ticket-office in New York there was a 
man standing close by when Ben went up to 
purchase his ticket for Washington Perhaps to 
impress the stranger with his importance and teach 
him that he must not always judge people by their 
size, Ben, with a little flourish, pulled out the roll 
of bank-bills which he had received from his sitters 
at Camp Bismarck, and made a great show counting 
out his fare. When he took his seat on the train, 
he found the same man on the seat behind him. 
He turned out to be a pleasant, soft-spoken man, 
who by and by began to talk to Ben, and when 
he learned where he was going gave him much 
good advice, and told him how to go to Vir- 
ginia, and what everything would cost, and many 
other things. He happened to have a map in 
his pocket, and he came over into Ben's seat and 
opened his map and took out a pencil, and showed 
Ben his road exactly on the map, so that Ben 
thought he had learned more geography from the 
soft-spoken man, in half an hour, than he had 
ever learned in the Dashville school all his life. 
And when, presently, the stranger saw the camera 
under the seat and heard what it was, and drew 
out from Ben a description of his visit to Camp 
Bismarck and the pictures he had taken, not for- 



getting the Governor's, the soft-spoken man de- 
clared that Ben must be a wonderful boy — in-fact, 

moment occurred to him to connect his loss with 
the soft-spoken man. 

But now what was to be done? He felt in his 

trousers' pockets in alarm, and found he had still 

ittle silver. He counted it with much anxiety. 

There was only two dollars and a half. Forced 

to pay a dollar and a half for his lodging and 

breakfast, he reached Alexandria next day with 

only fifty cents in his pocket. This proved 

to be just enough to pay his fare in the 

stage that was to take him to Mont- 

ville, a lovely little place among 

the mountains which 

had heard Lieu- 

the most 
wonderful boy 
he had ever 
known, and h( 
ventured to pre 
diet that then 
was a chance — 
in fact, the great- 
est probability — 
of his some time 
becoming Presi- 
dent of the Uni- 
ted States. In fine, the 
soft-spoken man had 
such kind man- 
ners, and talked 
so agreea 

n the stage 

- • 
bly, that Ben thought he was the nicest 
person he had ever met next to the Gover- 
nor, and was very sorry to have him go 
when he left the train at Baltimore. Nor 
afterward, when Ben got to Washington and found 
his roll of bank-bills had mysteriously disappeared, 
when he stood pale and quaking with astonish- 
ment and fear at the discovery, it never for a 

tenant Wilder describe. 
There were several passengers 
when it started ; but one after another they all got out 
before it arrived at Montville, save one little girl about 
*J' Ben's own age. This little girl was directly opposite 
Ben, and there they sat, bobbing up and down as the 
stage jolted along, making believe not to look at each 
other, but all the time wanting to speak. The little girl 
had a bright, merry face ; she was not exactly pretty, but 
very good-natured looking ; she had laughing blue eyes, 
a freckled skin, and reddish hair, which was arranged in two 
long braids, tied up at the ends with bits of blue ribbon. 
She held in her lap a very large orange, which she played 
with now and then when she grew tired of tossing her 
braids and drumming on the window. 

All at once the stage gave a tremendous jolt 
as they passed over one of those queer hum- 
mocks in the road which the country 
1 people call ,; thank-you-marms," and 
away went the orange on the floor. In 
a minute, Ben sprang to pick it up and 
the little girl sprang to pick it 
up, so they met in the 
middle and their heads 
came together with 
a tremendous bump. 
Then they both sat 
back in their seats, and 
the lit- tie girl began to laugh, 

whereupon Ben blushed and bit his lip. 

Then the little girl laughed harder than before ; she 
looked out of the window and puckered up her lips, 




and put her handkerchief up to her mouth, and 
tried very hard indeed to stop, but all in vain ; she 
presently burst out again, and laughed and laughed 
till the tears stood in her eyes. By this time Ben 
had become very indignant ; he did not like to be 
laughed at — he considered himself a person of 
altogether too much consequence ; so he got up 
and went across the stage, and turned his back on 
the little girl and looked out of the other window. 
Pretty soon, however, hefelt atouch on his shoulder, 
and there was the little girl holding out half of 
her orange, which she had peeled for him. She 
did not say anything, but she looked so sorry and 
so eager to be friends that Ben was mollified, and 
so took the orange and returned to his seat. 

As they sat there eating their oranges and look- 
ing rather bashful, the little girl, taking courage, 
suddenly asked : 

" What 's your name ? " 

''Mister Ben Brady," said Ben, thinking to im- 
press the little girl with his dignity. 

" My name is Sissy Sanderson," she rejoined; 
"my father's the town clerk. Everybody knows 

" Humph ! " exclaimed Ben, not very politely, 
thinking to himself that he was somebody, and he 
did n't know the Sandersons. 

" What 's that thing?" asked Sissy, pointing to 
Ben's apparatus, tucked down beside his seat. 

" It 's a tourograph ! " replied Ben, loftily. 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Sissy, none the wiser. 

Ben gazed out of the window with a proud air, 
as much as to say, " Look at it now while you have 
the chance; you don't see a tourograph every 

" Do you play on it?" asked Sissy, again. 

"Nobody plays on it!" exclaimed Ben, indig- 
nantly. " I take pictures with it. I am an artist ! " 

" You do!" exclaimed Sissy, almost gasping 
with astonishment, and then she looked from Ben 
to the tourograph, and from the tourograph to 
Ben, for three whole minutes, so overcome with 
awe and admiration that she could not speak. 

"Who taught you ? " at last she asked. 

" Nobody; 1 taught myself," replied Ben, short- 
ly, seeing the effect he had produced on Sissy, and 
now feeling that he had risen once more to his 
proper level. 

'• Where are you going ? " asked Sissy, more and 
more interested in her new acquaintance. 

" Going to Montville." 

" Why, that 's where I live. I know everybody 
in Montville — whose house are you going to?" 

" I 'm not going to anybody's house ; going to the 
hotel," said Bed, haughtily. 

" Why there is n't any hotel," said Sissy. 

"Eh? " exclaimed Ben, in alarm. 

" Did n't you know the hotel was burned a long 
time ago? " 

" Wh — wha — what shall I do then ? " 

The pride and haughtiness faded very suddenly 
out of Ben's face, and gave place to a look of 
blank dismay, as he felt in his trousers' pockets 
and found them empty, as he thought of himself 
hundreds of miles from home, with no means of 
getting back, and now just about entering a strange 
town, with no hotel, and the night coming on. 
He gazed ruefully down upon the tourograph, 
and then out of the window, and looked very, very 
crest-fallen and forlorn. 

"Have n't you any relations in Montville?" 
inquired Sissy. 


"And don't you know anybody ?" 


" Then what made you come here ? " 

" 'Cause Lieutenant Wilder said there were 
splendid views here." 

"What, Charley Wilder?" 

" Yes ! " cried Ben, brightening up a bit. " Do 
you know him ? " 

" Oh, yes, indeed ; he was my sister Molly's par- 
tick'ler friend when he was here. He used to come 
to our house often. How funny you should know 

There was a few minutes' silence, during which 
the kind-hearted Sissy was busily thinking, when, 
suddenly, she exclaimed : 

" Why, I '11 tell you what you can do. You 
can come to our house to supper, and bring your 
troorer — two — row — gr — , the /hing, you know," 
cried Sissy, in a desperate attempt to remember 
the name, "and I '11 ask Mother, and she '11 find 
some place where you can go." 

Ben blushed a little, and muttered out his thanks 
rather awkwardly. But he was glad enough to ac- 
cept the invitation, which took a big load from his 
heart, as you may believe, and, heaving a deep 
sigh of relief, he cast a look of gratitude at Sissy, 
and for the first time began talking and laughing 
with her quite easily. In this way, they at length 
rolled into the pretty village of Montville, where 
they were presently set down at Mr. Sanderson's 

Sissy immediately stepped out of the stage and 
ran away, crying: 

" I '11 go and tell Mother you 've come." 

Pretty soon she came back with her mother, who 
proved to be a plain, stout, middle-aged wom- 
an, with a very pleasant look in her face. They 
found Ben sitting on the door-step, looking very 
dismal. Mrs. Sanderson took him in and welcomed 
him heartily ; and after asking him some questions 
about Lieutenant Wilder, and looking with much 

i88 3 .] 



curiosity at his tourograph, of which Sissy had 
already given her some account in an awed and 
mysterious whisper, Mrs. Sanderson called in her son 
Bob, a boy of about the same age as Ben, and bade 
him show their little guest upstairs, saying kindly : 

" If you are a friend of Lieutenant Wilder's, 
you must stay with us, my dear, while you remain 
in Montville." 

Then Ben, with another sigh almost as big as 
he was himself, but with a light heart, followed 
Bob upstairs. 

The next day, bright and early, and every 
morning for some time afterward, Ben started off in 
search of views. Up the hills and down the valleys 
he marched, never getting tired, stopping every now 
and then to take a picture, and always attended by 
Sissy and Bob, who were his constant admirers. 
Sometimes they went with Sissy's donkey-wagon, 
and sometimes they went with Bob's team, which 
was funnier still. Bob's team was nothing more 
nor less than an ox-cart. That was rather a queer 
thing for Bob to have, but this is the way it hap- 
pened : Two or three years before, when Mr. 
Sanderson was about to send off two young calves 
to the butcher. Bob begged so hard for them, that 
his father gave them to him, and he had brought 
them up and trained them and broken them in, till 
now they were the handsomest pair of oxen in the 
whole country-side. Bob had trained them so that 
he could sit in the cart and shout " Gee ! " and 
"Haw!" and they would go whichever way he 
wished. He called one " Jack " and the other 
"Jill"; and when Sissy laughed at this and said 
Jill was a girl, Bob said he did n't care ; he liked 
the name of Jill, and it would do just as well for 
an animal as it would for a girl. 

After Ben had thus photographed all the fine 
scenes he had heard Lieutenant Wilder describe, 
he began to take views of the town, and he soon 
became as well known and famous among the towns- 
people as he had been in camp. He wore his cap 
with the badge wherever he went, and was at once 
an object of envy to all the boys and of admiration 
to all the girls. Nobody understood very clearly 
why Ben did n't finish up his pictures, but they 
listened in good faith to his story of the magic 
liquid; and as he took good care to tell all about 
Camp Bismarck, and how he took the officers and 
last of all the Governor himself, they could n't 
doubt his word. Beside, there was the instru- 
ment itself — there had never been one before in 
town, and if it did n't take pictures, what did it do ? 
Again, Ben's experienced air, — for he had now 
taken so many pictures that he went through the 
operation with great ease and quickness, — all 
these things tended to impress the public with his 
knowledge and skill. 

Thus he went about the village always attended 
by a group of white children, a lot of ragged little 
darkies, a few grown-up men who had nothing 
better to do, and now and then a stray dog or cat. 
He took views of the chief buildings and objects of 
interest, the town-house, the pound, the grocery 
store, and the blacksmith's shop. The poor smith 
stood with a horse's foot in his lap, and his heavy 
hammer uplifted in the air, waiting until his back 
ached to be taken. But as soon as Ben got ready, 
then the horse would switch his tail to brush off 
a fly, or the smith would have to mind his bel- 
lows, or a pig would run in the way, or something 
else happen, which, of course, was not Ben's fault. 

Then at home he had to take ever so many pict- 
ures of the Sanderson family and all their friends. 
There was Mrs. Sanderson in her best black silk, 
holding a prayer-book in her hand. There was 
Granny Sanderson in her best cap, with her jet- 
black front tied on askew. There was Mr. Sander- 
son in his Sunday clothes, with his long locks 
combed down very straight and smooth, staring 
with a stern look at a fly on the wall. There 
was Bob, with his hair sticking straight up in the 
air, and his eyes looking a little wild. There was 
Sissy, with her freckles and braids, smiling help- 
lessly, for she protested she never could keep 
sober with " that thing " pointed at her. And last, 
but by no means least, there was Miss Molly. I 
say Miss Molly, ' for she was a grown-up young 
lady and the beauty of the family, and not only 
that, but the beauty of the whole town, as every- 
body acknowledged. I am sorry to say that people 
had noticed Molly's good looks, and silly friends 
had told her she was handsome, until she had be- 
come so vain of her beauty that she thought of 
very little else. Now, therefore, she was constantly 
" posing " to Ben for her picture. And Ben, as you 
may suspect, was only too glad to find his services 
in such demand by the belle of Montville. Ac- 
cordingly, he took her in all kinds of attitudes, in 
which he exerted his utmost skill, and Miss Molly 
made frantic attempts to be fascinating. Now, in 
her big Gainsborough hat, almost as large round 
as the top of a barrel ; now with her hair let down 
and her eyes rolled up like a Madonna; now wear- 
ing a wreath of flowers as " The Bride," or veiled 
with the mosquito-net as " The Spirit of Light " ; 
now with her head turned to one side as " The Co- 
quette," with her hands resting upon a parasol that 
lay across her lap, and with an affected smile upon 
her face. Our young photographer decided that this 
last " would be a very good picture, only the arms 
and the parasol were a little out of focus." 

After a time, however, Miss Molly's thoughts 
took a tragic turn. She tried attitudes for hours 
before the glass, and when she hit upon one that 




was fine enough she would "strike it," and call 
for Ben to come at once to take her. Sometimes 
this must have been very tedious if not painful, 
as when one day she arrayed herself in a bed- 
quilt and stood in the middle of the parlor floor 
till nearly exhausted, brandishing the carving-knife 
as " Lady Macbeth " ; and all this time poor Mrs. 
Sanderson was waiting for the knife to cut up the 
cold meat for dinner, but dared not ask for it, as 
Miss Molly insisted if she was disturbed in that 
attitude she could never "strike it" again, which, 
I believe, was true enough. Another remarkable 
attitude of Miss Molly's was when she put three 
rows of paper ruffles around her neck, dressed 
her hair in puffs, put on Bob's cap with the brim 
at the back, donned Granny's long mourning veil, 
and looked sorrowfully down at her feet, as Mary 
Queen of Scots. But her grandest and most ter- 
rible' posture was where she rolled up her sleeve 
to the shoulder, and then, seizing in her other 
hand a toy snake which Bob found among his old 
playthings, applied it to her bare arm while she 
threw back her head and fixed a ferocious glare 

question by tying on a red cotton handkerchief for 
a turban, and draping herself in one of the chintz 
curtains from the parlor. And if anybody had ob- 
jected that this garb was very like old Aunt Dinah's 
in the kitchen, it might easily have been answered 
that no Aunt Dinah nor any other mortal cook was 
ever seen clutching a toy snake and rolling her 
eyes in that way. 

What worried Ben, however, was that he had no 
screen, and that the corner of the melodeon, with 
the kerosene lamp on it, would be sure to show 
sticking out behind Cleopatra in the picture. 

Speaking of Aunt Dinah reminds me of Ben's 
attempt to photograph her. After all the family had 
been duly taken, they suddenly thought of Aunt 
Dinah, and rushed into the kitchen to ask her. 
She beamed with delight at the suggestion, but 
said, in a sort of shamefaced way : 

" Laws, honey, yer don't wanter tuk an ole body 
like me." 

"Yes, yes, we do; come, Aunt Dinah! come 
right along ! " shouted all the children in chorus. 

" He, he ! " chuckled the delighted Aunt Dinah, 


upon the ceiling. This, I hardly need to tell you, beginning to divest herself of her kitchen apron, 

was " Cleopatra and the Asp." The whole family " ef y' aint gwine fer to take no 'scuse, s'pose I '11 

assembled and stood by in awe-struck and breath- jes' hab to be tuk. But go 'long, honey, go 'long ! 

less suspense while Ben, with trembling haste, took I 's comin', I 's comin' sho' ; only jes' stoppin' to 

the picture. No one was quite clear how Cleo- find sumfin to frow ober dis yer noddle." 

patra ought to be dressed ; but Molly settled the Sure enough, out came Aunt Dinah presently in 



her best plaid apron and kerchief, a yellow turban " Run, chil'en ! Massy sakes, run ! it 's gwine to 
on, and her gold ear-rings gleaming in the sun. go off! Seed one o' dem yer t'ings bust afore 
Ben sat her on a bench in the garden among the now ! Done knock eberyt'ing all to nuffin ! " 


sunflowers, and she made a first-rate picture — much 
better than Ben had any idea of, and far finer, after 
all, than Miss Molly in all her grand attitudes. 

But the moment Aunt Dinah was seated she 
began to look .grave ; she grew, in fact, more and 
more solemn as Ben proceeded to " fix things," 
till at length when all was ready she had stiffened 
into a really formidable grimness. 

Presently Ben had everything arranged to his 
satisfaction, and coming to the front of the camera 
he said, in a warning tone, and with a grand air 
that never failed to strike terror to the heart of the 
ignorant sitter: " All ready now, take care ! " and 
immediately pulled off the little brass cap. 

Aunt Dinah had been looking in another direc- 
tion, but at these words turned quickly toward the 
instrument, and whether startled by Ben's action 
or tone, or both combined, it would be impossible 
to say ; but she suddenly started from her seat and 
fled toward the house, looking back over her shoul- 
der with a terrified face, as she cried : 

/INS. [see next page.] 

The children all laughed and shouted at poor 
Aunt Dinah's fright, but nothing could induce her 
to go back and have her picture taken. 

"Dis ole nigger seed too many dem yer shootin' 
t'ings in de war," she said, solemnly. " Yo' kin 
go on ef ye wanter, jes' go right on, but I 's tell 
yer, honey, tell yer sho', dat ar 's gwine ter go off 
one o' dese yer fine days, an' den whar '11 ye be? 
Whar'll ye be den?" she repeated, shaking her 
head, warningly. "Wont be nuff o' yer lef to 
wipe up de flo'." 

Beside the Sandersons, Ben was called upon in 
due time to take some of the neighbors. His 
greatest trial, however, was with the Mallory 
twins. Mrs. Mallory was very fond and proud of 
the twins — so extravagantly fond of them that she 
often said they were good enough to eat. They 
were as like each other as two peas ; indeed, Ben 
thought they were a good deal more alike than 
any two peas he had ever seen. They were just 
one year and two months old. Why Mrs. Mallory 




was so proud of the twins, except for the fact that 
there were two of them, nobody was ever able to 
find out ; but she was, and that was enough for 
Mrs. Mallory, and indeed for Mr. Mallory, too — 
they were both very proud of the twins, and the 
taking of their pictures was a great event in the 
Mallory family. 

The appointed day arrived. Ben was told to come 
with his instrument at eleven o'clock precisely, for 
that was the time the twins awoke from their morn- 
ing naps. He went accordingly. He was shown into 
the parlor, where the whole family was gathered 
awaiting him. Ben by this time felt quite experi- 
enced ; he had taken almost everything else but a 
baby, and, although it was a bold thing to begin 
with twins, Ben felt pretty sure of himself. Pres- 
ently the twins were brought in, and straightway 
there was a chorus of admiring relatives — "Dar- 
lings," "angels," "cherubs," "pets," "lambs," 
" little dears," etc. Ben did n't join in the chorus ; 
he did n't exactly know what to do, and so only 
stood and twirled his thumbs, and looked foolish. 
He knew very little about babies, and still less 
about twins ; " but," as he told Sissy privately, " he 
could n't see anything to make a fuss over ; he 
should a great deal rather have a couple of nice 
rabbits." They were chubby babies; and it must 
be confessed that they were not handsome. They 
were dressed in long white dresses, tied up at the 
shoulders with pink ribbons. They were girls, and 
their names, which their mother had made it a 
point to get as nearly alike as possible, were Eme- 
line Anna and Eveline Hannah. 

And now there was a great dispute as to how 
they should be taken. Some thought in the cradle, 
some thought in the baby-wagon, some thought 
on their mother's lap, some thought on their 
father's lap, while their Aunt Jane said they looked 
" too cunning for anything" in the clothes-basket. 
But soon Mrs. Mallory settled the question by 
emphatically taking them one on each knee. Now 
Ben went to work ; he pointed his instrument, ad- 
justed his lens, looked under the black cloth, and 
was just upon the point of saying the word, when 
suddenly Emeline Anna set up a cry. Three aunts 
at once rushed to the rescue,- which made her cry 
louder than before. Mrs. Mallory then sent the 
aunts away, and by some stratagem of her own 
secured silence. In a few minutes they were all 
ready to start again, when, unhappily, Eveline 
Hannah espied the ribbon on a little blue-and- 
white sock, sticking out from under her dress, and 
directly was seized with a wild desire to clutch it. 
This endeavor brought the three aunts and the 
father promptly to the scene. All at once, it oc- 
curred to their Aunt Jane that it would be " so 
sweet" to have them "looking up." Thereupon 

she went and got the dust-pan, and, standing on a 
chair behind Ben and the camera, she pounded it 
with a clothes-pin. This struck Papa Mallory as 
such a very clever thing to do, that he went and 
got the poker and tongs, and stood on another 
chair and banged them together. This produced 


1,'i. ,.,,u. !..ilU..,'.-. J '„lEL , 1 


the desired effect. The four eyes were strained up- 
ward in a gaze of dumb astonishment. 

" Now, quick, quick! " cried everybody. 

Ben, in a flutter, pulled off the cap. The whole 
family stood rigid with suspense for several seconds. 
Ben, at length, replaced the cap, crying triumph- 
antly, "Done!" Alas! in another moment he 
found that, in the confusion and excitement of 
getting the twins fixed, he had forgotten to put in 
the plate, and of course there was no picture. 

Up went Papa Mallory and up went Aunt Jane 
on the chairs again, bang went the poker and 
tongs, and clang went the clothes-pin and the 
dust-pan. This time, however, the plan did not 
work. Eveline Hannah suddenly took it into her 
"precious little head" to be scared at the noise, 
and at once set up a cry which, when Emeline 
Anna presently joined in, became a loud and pro- 
longed duet. It was plain that something else 
must be tried. It was, therefore, decided to let Papa 
Mallory hold the twins, while Mamma Mallory 
amused them. This promised at first to succeed. 



Mamma Mallory knelt down before the darlings, 
and, clapping her hands, cried softly : . . 

"Goo — goo! Googly — goo!" 

Now, children, I wish I could explain those 
words to you, but 1 can not. 1 have not the least 
idea what they mean. But — will you believe it? — 
the twins did; they knew what it meant at once, 
. and burst into the sweetest smile of which they 
were capable. Everybody again cried: 

■ Quick, quick ; take 

em now ! 

Take 'em 

But Ben, squinting under his black cloth, found 
he could see nothing at all but Mrs. Mallory's back 
hair. " Oh, dear ! " she cried, when Ben told her 
of this. " If I go away, they '11 be sure to cry ! " 

But it seemed now as if the twins had exhausted 
their ingenuity for the time, and had stopped to 
think up something else to do. They puckered 
their mouths, and looked pensively at the floor. 
" Now," thought Ben, " I '11 catch 'em on the sly ! " 
And so he did. They were quiet ; they sat still ; 
and neither Ben nor anybody else in the room 
noticed that Papa Mallory had been trotting each 
knee gently all the time. After this utter failure, 
Ben gave up the twins in despair. 

But although the Mallorys and many of the 
other neighbors were very willing to employ Ben, 
and even in some cases to order a dozen pictures, 
it never seemed to occur to anybody to pay in 
advance, and Ben had not the courage to demand 
it. So, instead of the great fortune he expected to 
make, he was not only without a penny, but depend- 
ing on the kind-hearted Sandersons for his board. 
At last, one morning, he made the startling dis- 
covery that he had used up all his plates. Now, 
instead of a millionaire and a celebrated artist as he 
had fancied himself when on the way to Virginia, 
all at once it occurred to him that he was only 
a boy a very long way from home, and with no 
means of getting back there. He began, too, to 
want to see his mother ; he even felt like crying 
a little, and the world looked very, very dark and 
dismal. Just at this moment Sissy came up, and, 
seeing Ben look so doleful, asked him what was 
the matter. He told her everything. Thereupon 
the sensible Sissy said : 

" Well, you ought to go right away and sit down 
and write your mother a good long letter, and tell 
her all about it ! " 

And so Ben did ; and his poor mother, who had 
been nearly distracted with anxiety, sent back an 
answer at once by telegraph, saying that his cousin 
Lieutenant Jones would come on to Montville im- 
mediately to bring him back. 

Very much ashamed was Ben to meet his cousin, 
you may be sure, after all the trouble he had 
caused ; and very silly and guilty he felt, like little 

boys who play truant from school. Still more 
ashamed was he to confess that he had been de- 
pending all this time on the hospitality of the 

However, good, kind Mrs. Sanderson would n't 
hear of taking a cent from Lieutenant Jones ; she 
said they would be all well repaid when Ben sent 
them on their pictures which he had taken. In- 
deed, I think Miss Molly was rather eager to have 
him go — she was so anxious to see her pictures. 

They arrived at home in two days ; and during 
the journey, Lieutenant Jones, as the mother's 
spokesman, delivered a severe lecture to our artist. 
So before the boy saw her again he had come to 
understand the fright and anxiety he had caused 
her. And when they met, Ben burst into tears, 
which told his mother how sorry and ashamed he 
was better than a thousand words could have done. 

Two days after he got up before sunrise and went 
to work developing his plates. Eager, curious, 
trembling with anticipation, he took them one by 


one into the dark closet and applied the magic 
liquid. He watched, he waited, he peered through 
the gloom by the light of his ruby lamp, he scanned 
each little line and point. What was the matter? 
Why did n't they come? He took them out to the 
daylight. He soaked them again and again in the 
liquid. What did it mean, all these misty, cloudy, 
confused-looking objects ? What was this meant 
for? And this? Where were the tents ? the camp 
views ? the officers ? Where, oh, where was the 

74 8 



Governor? Where were the beautiful views in 
Virginia ? Where were the Sandersons ? Where 
Miss Molly's " The Coquette," the "Cleopatra," 
the "Spirit of Light," " Lady Macbeth," and the 
"Queen of Scots"? 

A more dreadful set of pictures was never seen, 
I am sure — a more dismal failure never heard 
of! What did it mean ? Why, it only meant that 
Ben did n't know how to take pictures ; it meant 
that he did n't make any distinction between work- 

to eat when he went to tell his mother of his dis- 
appointment. He walked up and down his cham- 
ber floor a long time before he could gather 
courage to do it. His mother did not seem at all 
surprised ; but when she went on gravely and told 
Ben that now she must pay back to the officers the 
money they had advanced, and pay the Sandersons 
for his board, and that, in short, with the expense of 
sending after him to Virginia and everything else, 
his career as an artist would cost her over a hun- 


ing out-doors, where the light is fierce and strong 
and the picture takes in a second, and in-doors, 
where the light is weak and the picture does not take 
in less than a whole minute. It means that, not 
having his magic liquid with him, he could not see 
his mistakes, and so could not learn experience 
from them. Poor Ben ! He was stunned. He was 
staggered. He leaned up against the wall. Long 
had he been waiting for the moment of triumph, 
when he should bring forth his views to the light 
to convince his mother, and show all Dashville 
what a genius he was, to repay all the favors of 
the cadets, to return the compliment of the Gov- 
ernor, to requite the long-continued hospitality of 
the Sandersons, and last — far worse than anything 
else — to earn ike money lie had taken in advance 
from the officers ! 
It was a great big piece of humble-pie Ben had 

dred dollars, poor Ben was very much dismayed, 
and was quite thoughtful and downcast all the 
rest of the day. 

The next morning, he got up early and went 
and tucked his tourograph away in the darkest 
corner of the garret, and never mentioned it again. 
That afternoon, as he was standing at the window, 
he suddenly saw Johnny Tovvnsend come out of 
his house across the way with his fishing-rod and 
basket and go down the street. Ben stood a mo- 
ment struggling with his pride ; then he ran out 
and called : 

" Johnny ! — John — nee ! " 


" Got bait enough for two ? " 

" Ye-es." 

" Then hold on : 1 '11 go with you — if Ma '11 
let me ! " 

i88 3 .] 





C5&a£. ffaZG^ ' --'- sgF 




By W. M. Carv. 

I ONCE knew a hunter, living near a mining 
town in Montana, who made a business of selling 
wild game that he brought in from the surround- 
ing mountains. In his excursions, he would often 
happen upon the young of various wild animals, 


and bring them home to his cabin as pets for his 
children. In fact, he had made considerable 
money by rearing some of these young animals 
and afterward sending them to the Eastern States 
to be sold to menageries. He captured young 
grizzlies, mountain lions, panthers, and lynxes, 

and many a baby buffalo has he brought home to 
his children. These, when they grew large, were 
either sold or turned in with the cattle, of which 
he owned a large herd. 

One day I was riding by his cabin, and noticed 
that he had built around it an in- 
closure of common rough planks, 
put close together, and sawed off 
at an even height, making a board 
fence such as you have often seen 
in towns or villages. While look- 
ing at this fence, my attention 
was attracted by a curious little 
animal running along the top of 
the fence. At a little distance it 
looked like a kid or lamb, yet no 
one ever saw a lamb run along 
the top of a board fence, skipping 
and dancing as freely as when on 
the ground. It would suddenly 
stop and stand on its hind legs, 
and shake its head as if at some 
enemy on the other side of the 
inclosure or fence. 

My curiosity being aroused, I 
drove up to see what this curious 
creature was. It did not appear 
to be afraid of me, and came close 
up to where I stood, now and then 
shaking its head ominously, how- 
ever, as if to say, "I should like 
to try a fight with you, too." At 
that moment I heard a sudden 
bark, and a small Newfoundland 
dog dashed around the fence. 
Away went the strange creature, 
leaping down the fence and dash- 
ing across the yard, the dog after 
it, but both in play, as I could 
see. Their jumps and gambols 
would have astonished you. But 
always, when hard pressed, the 
queer animal would wheel, and 
with one spring land on the very 
top of the board fence again. 
Its powers of leaping and balancing were truly 

I shouted to the hunter, whom I now discovered 
unsaddling his horse at the door of his stable 
near by, saying, " What do you call this lively 
thins? " 



"That 's a kind of a Chinese puzzle on legs," 
said he, in reply. "Did you ever see anycircus 
clown beat him at jumping? " 

I replied by asking, " Well, what do you call 
the creature when cooked ? " 

This question he did not evade, but answered, 
promptly: " We call it mutton or lamb. That, sir, 
is a young mountain sheep. These animals re- 
semble our sheep in many ways, but not in their 
straight, coarse, yellowish-brown hair. But be- 
neath this rough coat they have a fine, short wool 
covering their bodies. They used to be called 
goats; but the wise men of the country have 
decided that they are really sheep." 

I had seen these strange sheep at a distance, in 
little bands, but never any so young as the one 
now playing about my friend's fence. 

The older sheep have a dark brown streak down 
the back of the hind legs, and also the same kind 
of a mark down the front of the fore leg. Their 

eyes are very large, resembling those of a deer or 

They feed on the bunch grass, lichens, and moss 
that grow on the rocks, on sage, and on the bark of 
trees. They are very difficult to approach in their wild 
state, yet, when captured young, are easily tamed. 

Hunters have very laborious sport when hunting 
these animals, as they seek the most elevated peaks 
of the mountains, and very seldom descend to the 
valleys. It is the object of the hunter to get above 
his game, if possible, when in pursuit of the mount- 
ain sheep, for they are so quick of eye, ear, and foot 
that, if he meets them on the same level with him- 
self, he stands but little chance of bagging his game. 
So he strives to get above them. Then a stone 
thrown down among them will suffice to frighten 
them, and they will immediately begin ascending 
the mountain ; and as they can not scent the hunter, 
who lies in wait above them, they will then fall an 
easy prey to quick and true shots from his rifle. 

i i f 



1 7- / "mm^t 




By Celia Thaxter. 

Clear shone the cordial sun of June ■ 

Summer was come again : 
In the still, dreamy afternoon, 

Upon the grassy plain, 

Tell us a story, Gottfried good, 
Of the tall towers that shine, 

And how the small sprites of the wood 
Crept up to Falkenstein ! 

The children, with the patient sheep 

About the shepherd old, 
Watched the long, lazy shadows creep 

Across the sunshine's gold. 

" Tell us that story, Gottfried, please, 
About the castle grand ! " 
And on the soft grass, at their ease, 
They curled on either hand. 

Up to the high crag, castle-crowned, The sun made yellow all the steep. 

Beyond the rushing Rhine, No sound the silence broke, 

With curious eyes they looked where frowned The good dog watched the drowsy sheep, 

The walls of Falkenstein. And thus the shepherd spoke: 

And Hans and Fritz and Max the bold, 

And little Rosel sweet, 
Coaxed and caressed the shepherd old, 

And gathered round his feet. 

" Rough was the knight- of Falkenstein- 
Harsh and morose was he ; 
Yet was his daughter half divine, 
The lovelv Odilie ! 

T H E S T O K Y ( ) F T HE CAST], E . 

" Like some old bare and gnarled tree, 
He lived upon his height ; 
But she, the lovely Odilie, 
Was like a blossom bright. 

Was it some bird or butterfly 
That glimmered bright before ? 

Patient he waited, with a sigh, 
To see the creature soar. 


And lovers flew as thick as bees 

Her rosy smiles to gain. 
But one alone the maid could please - 

The brave Kuno von Sayn. 

When, lo ! a tiny voice piped shrill: 
' Take heart, thou brave, true knight, 
Who would'st no helpless creature kill ! 
Thou shalt have thy delight.' 

He asked her of her father stern. 

The cruel lord replied : 
If you my daughter's hand would earn, 

And win her for your bride, 

And there upon the vivid moss 

A little kobold gray, 
With yellow plumes the wind did toss, 

And scarlet cloak so gay, 

' Level a smooth road from my door 

Down to the open plain 
Ere morning breaks, or nevermore 

Look in her face again ! ' 

" Stood, quaint and small, with hand on hip 
And grand of mien. Said he : 

' Ere down the west the moon shall dip, 
Thy road shall finished be.' 

A path down that tremendous crag ! 

Alas! for brave von Sayn, 
Who climbed the rocks like some bold sta£ 

Her rosy smiles to gain ! 

" Did Kuno dream? Where did he 
In vain he sought to find 
That fairy man above, below, 
Who spake with words so kind. 

No mortal hands a way might make 
Down such a mountain-side ; 

But Kuno, with heart fit to break, 
Swift to his miners hied : 

" Then in his heart hope rose elate. 
He turned and left the wood, 
And entered his own castle gate 
And slept in peaceful mood. 

• Now all my fortune yours shall be, 

If up the dizzy height 
A road for my good steed and me 

You '11 make ere morning light.' 

'• But round the walls of Falkenstein, 
Throughout that mystic night, 
Did thunder roll and lightning shine, 
And fill the folk with fright. 

" They gazed at him with pitying eyes, 
And whispered, while they smiled, 
' Our master once was grave and wise, 
But love has made him wild ! ' 

To heaven, the saints, and Mary mild 
The rough old Ritter prayed ; 

But still went on the tumult wild, 
And all his soul dismayed. 

" Then dull despair caught at his heart, 
And to the woods he sped. 
Frantic with grief, he struck apart 
The close boughs overhead, 

" With raps and taps and clinks and thumps 
Was cracked the ancient stone ; 
Ten thousand hatchets split the stumps, 
Ten thousand hammers shone : 

'• And pushed through clustering underbrush, 
With reckless stride, his way, 
Intent to the world's end to rush, 
Hating the light of day. 

•• For twenty thousand gnomes had sped 
The barriers to destroy. 
And when at last the morning red 
Kissed all the world to joy. 

Careless, yet not so blind was he 
But that his quick eye caught 

A scarlet gleam not hard to see. 
He paused as swift as thought. 
VOL. X.— 48. 

'' And Kuno on his coal-black steed 
Came riding gallantly, 
There was the finished road, indeed — 
A miracle to see : 


R E C O L L E C T I O N S (.) F A D R U M M E R - B O V . 


Up, up, and up he galloped gay, 

Till, at the portal grim, 
He saw the Ritter old and gray 

Come out to welcome him ; 

And by her white and slender hand 
He led his daughter fair. 

' Take her,' he cried, ' you who command 
The powers of earth and ah; ! ' 

" And Kuno looked in her sweet eyes, 
And rapturously obeyed ; 
And so he won his matchless prize, 
The snow-and-rose-bloom maid." 


New Series. 

By Harry M. Kieffer. 




ITH the ex- 
ception of 
an occasion- 
al skirmish 
and some 
heavy can- 
it onading. 
we had 

heard but 
little of the 
enemy when 
on Monday, 
May 23d, 
1864, after a 
good sleep, we started at six in the morning and 
marched rapidly all day in a southerly direction, 
"straight for Richmond," according to our some- 
what bewildered conception of the geography of 
those parts. Indeed, we had seen and heard but 
very little of the enemy for several days. Where 
he was we did not know. We only hoped he had 
at last taken to his heels and run away — 


"Away down South, in 
Away, away, 



and that we should never again see anything of 
him but his back. Alas ! for the presumption ; 

* Copyright, 

and alas ! for the presumption of the innumerable 
company and fellowship of cooks, camp followers, 
and mule-drivers, who, emboldened by the quietude 
of the last few days, had ventured to join each 
his respective regiment, and were marching along 
bravely enough, when, on the evening of May 23d, 
we neared North Anna River, which we were to 
cross at a place called Jericho Ford. As we ap- 
proached the river, we found the supply and ammu- 
nition trains "parked" to the rear of a woods a 
short distance from Jericho : so that, as we halted 
for awhile in the edge of the forest nearest to the 
stream, everything wore so quiet and unsuspicious 
a look that we never dreamed of the enemy's be- 
ing near at hand. Under the impression that we 
would probably halt there for the night, I gathered 
up a number of the boys' canteens and started in 
search of water, taking my course toward an open 
meadow which lay to the right and near the river's 
edge. There was a corn-field off to the left, across 
which I could see the troops marching in the direc- 
tion of the bridge. As I stooped down to fill my 
canteens at the spring, another man came up, bent 
upon the same errand as myself. From where I 
stood I could see the bridge full of troops and 
the rabble of camp followers carelessly crossing. 
But hardly had 1 more than half-filled my first 

i, by Harry M. Kieffer. All rights reserved. 

iS8 3 .) 



canteen, when the enemy, lying concealed in the 
woods, across the river, opened fire. Boom ! Bang ! 
Whir-r-r ! Chuck .' 

" Heigho 1 " said I to my companion, " the ball 
is going to open ! " 

" Yes," answered he, with a drawl and a super- 
cilious look, as if few beside himself had ever heard 
a shell crack before — "yes; but when you've 
heard as many shells bursting about your head as 
I have " 

Whir-r-r! Chuck! I could hear the sharp thud 
of the pieces of shell as they tore up the meadow- 
sod to the right and left of us, whereupon my brave 
and boastful friend, leaving his sentence to be 
completed and his canteens to be filled some other 
day, cut for the rear at full speed, ducking his 
head as he went. Finding an old gate-way near 
by, with high stone posts on either side, I took 
refuge there, and, feeling tolerably safe behind my 
tall defense, turned about and looked toward the 

And laughable indeed was the scene which 
greeted my eyes. Everything was in confusion, 
and all was helter-skelter, skurrv, and skedaddle. 

ing or being tumbled off the bridge, while others 
were swept irresistibly over to the other side, 
and there began to plunge forthwith into the dirty 
ooze of the stream, with the intention of getting 
beyond the enemy's range as quickly as possible, 
while all the time the shells flew shrieking and 
screaming through the air in pursuit. Between 
me and the river was a last year's corn-field, over 
which the rabble came pell-mell, fear furnishing 
wings for the flight, and happy indeed was he who 
had no mule to take care of! One poor fellow, 
hatless and out of breath, who had had his mule 
heavily laden with camp equipage, was making 
for the rear at a full trot, minus saddle, bag, and 
baggage, and having nothing left but himself, 
the mule, and the halter. Another, immediately in 
my front, had come on well enough until he arrived 
in the middle of the open field, where the shells 
were falling with unpleasant frequency, when his 
mule took it into his head to retreat no further 
— not an inch. There he stood like a rock, the 
poor driver pulling at his halter and frantically 
kicking the beast in the ribs, but all to no avail ; 
while around him and past him swept the crowd 



There was the bridge in full view, crowded with a of his fellow-cooks and coffee-coolers in full flight 

struggling mass of men, horses, and mules ; the for the rear. 

troops trying to force their way over to the other As the firing began to slacken a little. I started 

side, and the yelling crowd of camp followers off for the regiment, which had meanwhile changed 

equally bent on forcing their way back; some jump- position. In searching for it I passed the forage 




and ammunition trains, which were parked to the 
rear of the woods and within easy range of the 
enemy's guns. 

Unless he has actually seen them, no one can 
form any adequate idea of the vast numbers of 
white-covered wagons which followed our armies, 
carrying food, forage, and ammunition ; nor can 
any one, who has not actually witnessed a panic 
among the drivers of these wagons, form any con- 
ception of the terror into which they were some- 
times thrown. The drivers of the ammunition 
wagons were especially anxious to keep well out 
of range of shells ; and no wonder, for if a shot 
were to fall among a lot of wagons laden with 
percussion shell, the result may perhaps be im- 
agined. It was not strange, therefore, that the 
driver of an ammunition wagon, with six mules in 
front of him andseveral tons of death and destruction 
behind him, felt somewhat nervous when he heard 
the whir of the shells over the tops of the pines. 

In looking for my regiment, I passed one of these 
trains. The commissary was dealing out forage 
to his men, who were standing around him in a 
circle, each holding open a bag for his oats, which 
the commissary was alternately dealing out to 
them with a bucket — a bucketful to this man, then 
to the next, and so on around the circle. It was 
clear, however, that he was more concerned about 
the shells than interested in the oats, for he ducked 
his head almost every time he poured a bucketful 
into a bag. 

While I was looking at them, Page, a Michigan 
boy, orderly to our brigadier- general, came up on 
his horse in search of our division train, for he 
wanted oats for" his horses. Stopping a moment 
to contemplate the scene I was admiring, he said 
to me in a low tone : 

" You just keep an eye on my horse, will you? 
and I '11 show you how I get my oats." 

It was well known that Page could get oats when 
nobody else could. Though the wagon trains were 
miles and miles in the rear, and had not been seen 
for a week, Page was determined his horses should 
not go to bed supperless. It was whispered about 
that, if necessary, he would sit up half the night 
after a hard day's march, and wait till everybody 
was asleep, and then quietly slip out from under 
the very heads of the orderlies of other commands 
the oat-bags which, to make sure of them, they 
used for pillows. Oats for the general's horse 
Page would have by hook or by crook. 

" You see that commissary yonder," said Page, 

j as he dismounted and threw a bag over his arm. 

"He's a coward, he is — more interested in the 

■ shells than anything else. Don't know whether 

he 's dealing out oats to the right man or not. 

Just keep an eye on my horse, will you ? " 

Now, Page had not the least right to draw 
forage there, for that was not our division train. 
But as he did not know where our division train 
was, and as all the oats belonged to Uncle Sam any 
way, where was the harm, he reasoned, in getting 
your forage wherever you could ? 

Pushing his way into the circle of teamsters, 
who were too much engaged in watching for shells 
to notice the presence of a stranger, Page opened 
his bag while Mr. Commissary, ducking his head 
at every crack of the cannon, poured in four 
buckets of oats, whereupon Page shouldered his 
prize, and returning, mounted his horse, with a 
laugh, and a wink at me. 

In the wild melee of that May evening there at 
Jericho, — where we fell among thieves, — there 
was no little confusion as to the rights of property. 
Some horses had lost their owners, and some owners 
had lost their horses. So that, by the time things 
grew quiet again, some of the boys had picked up 
horses or bought them for a mere song. When I 
came up with the regiment, I found that Andy had 
just concluded a bargain of this sort. He had 
bought a sorrel horse. The animal was a great, 
ungainly beast, built after the Gothic style of archi- 
tecture, and would have made an admirable sign 
for a feed-store up North, as a substitute for 
" Oats wanted. Inquire within." However, when 
I arrived, Andy had concluded the bargain, and 
had bought the sorrel for ten dollars. 

"Why, Andy!" exclaimed I, "what in the 
world do you want with a horse ? Going to join 
the cavalry ? " 

" Well," said Andy, smiling rather sheepishly, 
" I took him on a speculation. I 'm going to 
feed him up a little " 

" Glad to hear it ! " said I. " I 'm sure he needs 
it sadly." 

" Yes : I mean to feed him up, and then sell him 
to somebody, and double my money on him, you 
see. You may ride him on the march and carry 
our traps. I guess the colonel will give you per- 
mission. And you know that '11 be a capital thing 
for you ; for you 're so sick and weak that you 're 
often left behind." 

"Thank you, old boy," said I, with a friendly 
shrug. " But, between joining the general caval- 
cade of coffee-coolers on this old barebones of 
yours and marching afoot, I believe I 'd prefer the 

However, we tied a rope around the neck of 
;< Bonaparte," as we significantly called him, fast- 
ened him to a stake, rubbed him down, begged 
some oats from Page, and, pulling some handfuls 
of young grass for him, left him for the night. 

Early the next morning, Andy rolled out from 
under the blankets and went to look after Bona- 



parte. I was building a fire when he came back, ears, and be silent that you may hear. This is 

It seemed to me that he looked a little solemn and my first and last speculation in horses. Bony is 

downcast. gone .' " 

" How 's Bony this morning, Andy ?" I inquired. It was indeed true. We had fallen among 

Andy whistled a bit, stuck his hands into his thieves, and they had even baffled Andy's plan for 

pockets, mounted a log, took off his cap, and said : future money-making. For none of us ever laid 

" Comrades and fellow-citizens : Lend me your eyes upon Bony again. 

(To be continued.) 






Retold in English by Elisabeth Abercrombie. 

Once upon a time there lived a man and his 
wife who owned a small but comfortable homestead 
— the house in which they lived, a couple of stalls 
for the cows, together with a cellar and a roomy 
shed in which to keep their various stores. They 
were careful to keep their horses, sheep, and cattle 
provided with good, wholesome food ; while a single 
week was never allowed to pass in which they did 
not employ themselves either in enriching the soil, 
plowing or sowing, reaping or mowing, or gath- 
ering in the crops, each according to the proper 
season. Indeed, it was only in comparison to the 
greater possessions of their neighbors that their 
property could be called a small one. 

Toward the west, the country was all free and 
open, and many little homesteads very like to 
theirs were dotted over the land here and there ; 
but to the east there was nothing to be seen but a 
thick forest. 

There were no paths leading into this great 
forest. No one ever thought of entering it, even 
to gather up wood for burning. The people col- 
lected the wood for their tires from the thick 
growth of bushes and brambles which the)- found 
along the banks of the lake or the brooks ; and so 
it happened that the forest trees had grown quite 
matted together and had become very old, but just 
how large the forest was, or just what was its con- 
dition inside, nobody knew. 

One bright day, the man and his wife were 
made very happy, for a child was born to them — 
a little daughter. 

" Now," they both said, '"we must be more sav- 
ing and more industrious than ever, for now we 
know for whom we are working, and who it is, in 
fact, that will have need of our working." 

As the child grew, she had very pleasant and 
winsome ways. You had only to look at her to 
feel your heart grow light. It did not matter 
to whom she stretched out her tiny hand — who- 
ever it might be, he was always ready to do 
whatever she wished ; it did not matter whom she 
ran to meet, for that person would always gladly 
have walked far out of his way to see her bright, 
smiling face. So it was from her earliest baby 
days, and so it went on as she grew larger and 
larger. During the day, each one of the man- 
servants or maids who went to and fro about the 
house sought to get a peep at the child. Some- 
how it seemed to them that the brightness of the 

day had not yet risen until this had been done. 
She was so entirely the darling of the household 
that her baptismal name was almost forgotten, 
while with one consent she was called, by all who 
knew her, ''Little Sunrise." 

When Sunrise had grown to be quite a large 
girl, her parents said to each other : 

'" Now, it is time that she should be learning 
how to do some work, for what is the use of prop- 
erty or prosperity if you haven't industry, and the 
habit of taking care of property, and the ability to 
add something to it from time to time ? " 

And a light task was accordingly given to the 
child. From the first, however, she showed her- 
self a very capable and willing little girl about 
everything that was given her to do. She never 
seemed in the least over-tired by her work. On 
the contrary, she always finished everything a 
great deal so